Oh, the People You'll Offend

It's summer again, which here in Phoenix means two things: (1) Leather car seats are not my friend; and (2) It's time to get a second job (or perhaps, a first job).  Given the extreme (but dry) summer heat, parents in Arizona must constantly find ways to entertain our children indoors (i.e., at places that charge admission fees).  As a result, a summer in Arizona can be as expensive as a Kardashian marriage; only our summers last much longer (Kanye West, you've been warned).

Therefore, you can imagine my excitement when the local movie theater chain announced weekly $1 pre-matinee movies for the children.  You can also imagine my disappointment when I learned that the concessions would still be full price ($1 movie tickets, $48 dollars for popcorn and M&Ms, priceless).  But I digress ...  

On Monday, my son Brendan and I went to our first of ten weekly matinees.  This week's movie was Horton Hears a Who.  It is the film adaptation of the classic Dr. Seuss book about an elephant (Horton) who struggles to protect a microscopic community from his neighbors who refuse to believe it exists.  Over the years, I've learned to expect a few things from going to children's movies, such as having the back of my chair kicked incessantly for two hours, not being able to hear the movie over a mother yelling, "Timmy, stop kicking that man's chair," and being arrested for assault when I demonstrate to the mother just how to keep Timmy from kicking my chair.  However, I don't expect to have my religious and moral assumptions challenged and to leave the theater in a state of intellectual vertigo (in addition to handcuffs).  Yet, this is precisely what Horton did to me.

For the next few hours, I couldn't help but to think about the questions this movie raised about my own spiritual epistemology, my current sense of moral certitude and my decision to not sneak snacks into the movie theater as I had been tempted to do.  I even turned to the Internet to read about Dr. Seuss and discovered that he had done this to me on purpose.  Seuss regularly used his seemingly innocent children's stories to influence public opinion about war, environmentalism, animal rights and civil rights.

As a result, while he was beloved by children, he made quite a few enemies among adults.  In the 1980s, a Northern California logging town attempted to have his book, The Lorax, removed from its elementary school's reading list.   Decades later when the book was made into a movie, it drew sharp criticisms from both the New York Times and the New York Post for its blatant pro-environmental stance.  One of the film's detractors went so far as to levy his complaints in verse:

Its knickers are twisted so high and so tight.
It could lead the day’s news on the Daily Kos site.
It’s all preaching and perching on messages dry.
Bob Dylan’s poor knees are six times as spry.

As a legal humorist, I can relate to Dr. Seuss because it's nearly impossible to tell jokes without offending someone.  After every one of my seminars, there is at least one person who wishes that I had never entered the field of CLE (besides me, of course).  In the beginning of my career, I was devastated by each negative comment.  Just one harsh evaluation could overshadow 100 positive evaluations.  That is, until I realized that part of my job as a humorist is to offend.  After all, for a joke to be funny it must contain an element of truth; and the truth hurts.  As one scripture tells us, "They shall know the truth and the truth shall make them mad."  Apparently, this scripture was written by a CLE instructor; or it should have been.

As a legal educator, my job is to not only comfort the afflicted but to likewise, afflict the comfortable.  Isn't that what a great teacher does -- helps struggling students to gain a basic understanding of the material while challenging comprehending students to reach greater heights of understanding and ability?  That's certainly what my best teachers did for me, despite the fact that I didn't always appreciate their efforts.  In fact, on the night before my final exam in Advanced Calculus, I can remember dropping to my knees and uttering the following prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I give the Lord my soul to keep.

And if tomorrow morning Ms. Kobayashi should be hit by a bus

That will be a secret we can keep just between us.

Amen.

Now, can you imagine the kind of evaluation I would have given this incredible teacher had our principal been foolish enough to ask for one?  Although, in any event, I suspect that Ms. Kobayashi would have been too wise to pay attention to my words of disdain, most of which would have been misspelled (by the way, I loved my English teacher).  She must have simply accepted the fact that being hated is as much a part of teaching as being underpaid (and looking both ways before crossing the street on the morning of a final exam).

Can we accept that as well?  Can we accept that interactive learning formats will afflict those attorneys who have become comfortable with using CLE as an opportunity to catch up on e-mails (or sleep)?  Can we accept that roundtable seating will afflict those attorneys who are uncomfortable with normal human interactions (i.e., IP and tax lawyers)?  I think we can accept these things so long as we stay focused on the long-term objective -- avoiding going back to the practice of law.  Likewise, if we focus on creating better lawyers (whether they like it or not), then we can better endure the slings and arrows of outrageous evaluations.

And if you're concerned that this "tough teaching" approach won't work with lawyers, I want to point you to words of my new hero, Dr. Seuss.  To paraphrase from one of his most famous books, Oh, the Places You'll Go:

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

GIRLFRIEND, YOU'LL MOVE LAWYERS!

Be your name Joanne, Louise or Mindy or Phyllis
or Mary Lynne Johnson, oops now, McInnis,
You're off to educate!
Today is your day!
Your angry lawyer is waiting.
So...say "What the hay!"