I’ll admit that I was a smart ass in law school. But I credit Henry Springmeyer, who taught torts, with helping me see the error of my ways.

Of all my professors, he was the only one who required us to stand up in front of the entire class and present an analysis of the facts and issues of a case.

I was not always ready to be called on to recite. On this day, when I was called out, I was caught unprepared. Unfortunately, this was also the day, my fiancé was visiting the class, which made my performance even more memorable. There was nothing to do but bluster my way through the recitation with my usual impertinence.

The case involved liability for lack of lighting at a railroad station. Alas, I told the professor that he hadn’t provided enough information in his hypothetical case.

“What’s missing?”  He was already irritated.

“Whether it was day or night,” I said.

“Why is that important?”

“Because if it was nighttime there might be a duty to light the station.”  I could hear the class snickering.

“Night,” he spat.

He grilled me for ten minutes, and my responses were, well, miserable. Finally, professor Springmeyer said the magic words, “Mr. Fox. Would you like to sit down and pass to wiser minds?”

He was baiting me. He knew it. I knew it. Everyone in the class knew it.

“Yes sir, I would.”  And I sat down

He then scanned to room filled with my fellow law students. Finally, he settled back on me.

“Mr. Fox. Please stand up again.”

He was not done teaching me a lesson and the humiliation continued. Needless to say, It was not my finest moment.

This was sixty years ago. And it was the last time I was a smart ass in any class.

Perhaps you’re wondering how I was able to pass the bar exam.  Probably because I’m very good at taking tests.

Alan

Last week I shared how my doctor mixed up the results of my blood tests with those of another patient, an error that could have had significant health consequences for me. In the aftermath of such a significant mistake, how should I have reacted?  With anger or  recriminations? Or maybe by finding myself a new doctor?

I’ve seen the “satirical” comment, “To err is human, NOT to forgive is even more human.”  While that may be true, not forgiving carries with it a significant emotional price tag.  I’m sure you have made mistakes, as have I, and that you’ve also been affected by the mistakes of others.  But if I were to remain upset by every mistake made by me or someone else over the past 84 years, I would be carrying around a lot of baggage of useless anger, and I would be miserable most of the time.

Is forgiving sublime?  Well, I think that idea is on the right track, if a bit overstated.

In discussing this with Daveen, she reminded me that, years ago, and at great personal risk to herself, she loaned a friend $6,000.  The friend, who lived in another city, failed to pay her back.  As a result, one of Daveen’s credit cards was cancelled.  Understandably, she was quite upset.

I suggested that she might want to forgive her friend.  Daveen settled instead for “letting go” of her anger. And letting go is plenty good enough.  Letting go lets you move forward in your life without carrying around all that unhappy baggage.

Given the option of enjoying a life filled with positive thoughts and memories instead of allowing the past to cast a dark shadow, the choice seems simple. I choose to live my life unhindered by negative emotions from my past.

Not only does letting go impact your happiness, it preserves important relationships. My father used to correspond with his father through written letters. His father’s letters were always filled with memories of past problems between them.  My father suggested that they focus on positive memories in their future correspondence. My grandfather’s response was, “I can’t think of a single positive thing in our past.”

Understandably, my dad stopped communicating with his father. He also refused to attend his funeral.

In the words of Rodney King, “People, I just want to say, you know, can’t we all get along?”

I agree, Rodney. Thanks for those wise words.

Alan

What is the one word you don’t want to hear when visiting a medical professional?

A few weeks ago, I visited my cardiologist.  He walked into the examination room reading a sheaf of medical records supplied by my internist.

“Your blood tests from Monday were fine,” he began as Daveen and I smiled, “but your blood tests from last week are alarming.”

I looked at him.

“I didn’t have any blood tests last week,” I said.

“Oh.”  He rustled through the papers.

“Oops.  Those were for another patient.”

I have read that many medical patients, especially in a hospital, suffer unnecessarily due to human error. As terrible as that is, it makes sense. We humans are not designed to be perfect, and mistakes – our own and others – are always possible. This is why, when my children began to drive, I told them that if they failed to pay attention, even for 5 seconds, they could be killed in an auto accident – and that it might not even be their fault.  My friend’s son was driving home from work when he was tragically killed by a drunk driver speeding through a red light at 2:30 in the morning.

I am not a doctor, but I have the greatest respect for those who are.  When my parents tried to convince me to study medicine, my answer – repeatedly – was an emphatic “No,” because I faint at the sight of blood.  I hope that I eventually satisfied them by  becoming both a CPA and an attorney.  And, my eldest son became a doctor, and he has been extremely helpful to our entire family.  He also married a doctor, who has been equally helpful.

What I learned from my recent cardiologist visit is that it’s important to not only check my own work for mistakes, but also the work of others.  This won’t eliminate every mistake, but it does catch many and that is certainly a plus, especially when my life might depend on it.

I’m sure that if I looked over my blogs of the past ten years, I would find a typo or two, even after extensive proofreading by me and others.

To err is human, to forgive . . . well, that could be the subject of another blog.

Alan