I walked into the courthouse thinking about the thousands of times I have walked these halls over the last 25 years. The quiet reverence in the courthouse could confuse you for thinking you were in a library or a bank, except for the always visible police officers on duty. Suited-up lawyers talking in hushed soothing tones while their nervous clients populate the wood benches along the corridors outside the courtrooms. I glance up toward my favorite part of the courthouse – the ceiling of the rotunda with the comforting view of golden pink illustrations of eight murals revealing the history of Omaha. Though familiar, this time was different. As I walked into the assigned judge’s courtroom and sat down to the left of my lawyer.

I am involved in a minor land dispute that now requires litigation. For the first time in my life, I hired my own lawyer. He is easily fifteen years my junior in both age and litigation experience, as were the lawyers who sat at the opposite table. They each rarely appear in court given their practice areas. When the judge and court reporter asked for introductions of the attorneys present, my face was the only one familiar and the only name they knew. I corrected the court reporter and told her that today I appeared as a client.


You can find more of Angela's writing in her book Patched Up Parenting.