A reminder about “Will’s Journal”
This series of contributions to the WMH Blog is a collection of stories of events that played an important role in shaping how I would ultimately see the world. It is my goal to recount these stories, share my thoughts and take a positive lesson from each. With that simple goal in mind I share my first memory.
Around the block and back again: Not so fast…little Willie
And yes, I was called Willie as a child until I refused to answer to it as a Junior at Burleson High School. As soon as the snickering clears . . . I was born in Lansing, Michigan, to two college students at Michigan State University in December of 1964. After my dad finished his studies at MSU, we moved to Evansville, Indiana, where he got his first job as a packaging engineer at Mead Johnson Laboratories. My mother did not work outside the home, and by the Fall of 1966, she had given birth to my little brother, and I was nearing my “terrible twos.”
My first memory is from the Spring of 1967. I remember one evening we had gone for a walk as a family. I don’t remember my brother being with us, but I clearly remember mom and dad. We walked along the sidewalk, and by a railroad track (I was riding my tricycle). I remember stopping at a corner where there was a stop sign. I can remember it like it was last week — a fire engine blaring its siren and flashing its lights drove by. It was so loud my ears hurt. The fire engine was bright red, big and loud. I was so excited. After seeing the fire engine, I did not want our family outing to end.
I am not sure how long it was after that family walk, but it was so much fun, I decided to go again. This time, I was again on my tricycle. I remember trying to repeat everything I could remember from our previous walk – following the same route, remembering the same sights, repeating the same conversation, looking for the big red fire engine – I relived the walk in my head. I so badly wanted to repeat the wonderful time I had experienced on that memorable walk. I did everything exactly the same – except I was alone.
The houses in the very modest neighborhood we lived were small, frame structures with no fences separating the back yards. My mom could see out her kitchen window, and see the back of our neighbor’s house, and the street on either side of our neighbor’s house. Mom tells me the house was on Chandler Street, in Evansville, Indiana.
As an adventurous toddler, it did not occur to me what my mom and dad would think about my solo ride around the neighborhood. That innocence was shattered when I heard my mother screaming at me from our backyard. I remember grabbing my tricycle by the handlebar and dragging it through our neighbor’s yard as I ran home through the backyard as fast as I could.
The exact sequence of events is cloudy, but the next thing I remember is standing in the kitchen as my dad grabbed a flyswatter – I remember the flyswatter clearly – it had an avocado green plastic mesh end and a white painted wire handle similar to a clothes hanger. I don’t remember the “swatting” that ensued, but I do know it was the first of many to follow throughout my childhood.
Recasting and Lessons Learned
It has troubled me that my first memory revolved around a “disciplinary event” involving “corporal punishment” for wanting to relive a great time with my parents. This “spanking” was one of several that I would receive over the course of my childhood. The frequent and liberal use of “corporal punishment” by my parents and step-parents led me to avoid the use of “spankings” when raising my two children. I can count on one hand the combined number of times I have spanked my two kids.
For years, I have discounted the fear that my young parents must have felt, discovering that their toddler had disappeared from the house. I can only imagine how parental raw fear transformed to anger upon seeing me on my tricycle across the yard on another street. Both in their early twenties, these unexpected and unprepared parents were coping the best they could, by the only means they knew at the time. I choose now to look at this memory as both my mom and dad acting not out of anger, but rather out of fear, fear that something had happened, or more importantly, that something could happen in the future without a strong message to their young child.
Application to Trial Advocacy
In retrospect, the lesson I take away from this incident is how important it is to always consider the perspective of others when evaluating their words or actions. In our practice, knowing the perspective of a witness is often the key to understanding his or her testimony, learning biases and motivations, and unlocking how to get the most out of every witness, whether on direct- or cross-examination. As a study conducted at the University of Chicago demonstrated “years of exposure to a culture that values independence and does not promote other-orientation does not provide the tools to unreflectively interpret actions from the perspective of the other.” http://psychology.uchicago.edu/people/faculty/keysar/27_wukeysarps.pdf. Many if not most trial lawyers know what it is like to be “independent,” “in charge” and, accordingly, do not necessarily develop “other-orientation” sufficiently to analyze the “other” perspective.
As a result, and not surprisingly, many practitioners do not naturally consider the perspective of witnesses, victims or accuseds when evaluating their testimony. This differing perspective among people is one of the reasons that explain why multiple individuals see the same exact event differently. It is incumbent on every military justice or criminal law practitioner to “get behind” the statement or testimony of a witness, and explore the testimony from his or her perspective. It is often an enlightening experience that can directly affect the outcome of a trial.
-Will M. Helixon