35. Careers Advice

When I was home at the end of the summer holidays, Daddy and I went out for lunch in Paris. He took me to his favourite Brasserie near the Champs Elysèes. He had a va j’viens which is a sort of steak tartare just seared on both sides and I had a sole meunière and a crème caramel, of course. We talked about all sorts of things including University and what I want to study and where I want to go. I have decided that I want to study law. I want to be an international lawyer. I want to use my languages to do something that sounds interesting and law sounds very interesting. I have been looking at all the University brochures in the careers library and that’s what I want to do. Daddy seems to like my idea, he said there might be all sorts of interesting things I could do with an international law degree like working in Brussels for the EEC.  He talked to me about his friend Fred Marcusa who is a lawyer in New York and said that maybe I can have a chat with him about it. I felt so excited. We talked about different Universities but he doesn’t really know about any except the one he went to, Manchester. He said it was a good University when he went there but that was a long time ago so he’s not sure what it’s like now.

Today I have my appointment with the Careers Advisor. We’re sitting at a small table in a room filled with brochures and folders and she asks me if I know what I want to study at University.

“Yes”, I tell her, confidently and proudly. “I want to be a lawyer. Maybe an international lawyer, so that I can use my languages.”

She looks at me and doesn't say anything. She’s half smiling but I can’t work out what it means. I feel uncomfortable, as if there was a right answer to her question and I’m not sure, but I think I got it wrong.

She stands up and turning her back to me she goes to the shelves behind her desk and brings over some brochures.

“Mmmm” she says, lips pursed, shaking her head. “I don’t think law is the right thing for you Sophie”. “I’ve seen your reports and spoken to your teachers and you’re not academic enough. You would have to work very hard to get very good exam results if you want to study Law” she looks at me with an expression that says and we both know that you don’t work very hard and your results so far have been average, don’t we?

“You should stick to what you’re good at." She smiles, weakly. "You’re very good at languages. You should study languages. It will be much easier for you and you'll get into a Red brick University if you’re lucky”.

She fans the brochures out on the desk in front of her. Birmingham. Reading. Manchester.

“Reading isn’t one of the Red brick Universities but it has an excellent Italian department, one of the best, mind you Birmingham is also very good for Italian…”

I look down at the colourful photos of University campuses. Something feels heavy in my chest. I don’t know what to say. I want to cry but of course I don’t. I’m not clever enough to study law. It’s as if, in that moment, a vacuum is created in my body and my brain. One moment I know who I am and the next I have no idea. Will I ever know again? I really thought I knew what I wanted to do when I leave this place. I was so excited. Daddy didn’t say I wasn’t academic enough. But she seems certain. She knows about these things. I want to run out of there but I have to stay and listen to her talking and talking about the best Italian departments. Maybe I could study another language as well, she’s saying, maybe I can become a translator or an interpreter. My head is swimming and I’m not really listening to her. I don’t want to hear anything she is saying. I don’t want anything at all.

Back in my room I feel furious. How dare she tell me I can’t study law. I will. I’ll show her.

I yank my diary out of my bedside table drawer and start writing:

But the next time  I go home and I speak to my father he just listens and doesn’t contradict the careers advisor. I tell him that the she said I should study languages, that I’m not academic enough for law and I think she might be right. So I tell him I’m thinking of studying Italian. He doesn’t ask why I am giving up on law, he doesn’t tell me I am clever enough. He doesn’t encourage me to do what I want. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just listens and nods.

Maybe they both know something I don’t. They are probably right. Who do I think I am? My history grades are pretty low. I am predicted an A in Italian and I’m doing the S’Level as well. That’s what I’m good at. My French is better than Mrs Gregory’s and my Italian is improving so much now that I am studying the grammar and having lessons on my own with Mrs Mercer-Deadman. Mrs Careers Advice must be right. Best stick to what I do best.

So I give up. I give up on my dream and I do what is expected of me. I let go of one more morsel of my spirit, shoving it down where it won’t get in the way, covering it up so no one will notice and I won’t remember what I know and who I am.

Today is 27th October 1982. Today the course of my life changed. Who would have guessed the power of a poorly trained, nameless careers advisor.

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I feel so sad reading that diary entry. I would have loved being a lawyer, I know I would. I don't know if I was academic enough at the time. I was somewhat immature and even when I eventually studied Italian at Manchester I struggled to write essays and really get into the work. I got a 2:1 but really because my spoken and written Italian were excellent and I could read all the lilterature effortlessly. Maybe I would have struggled with law or maybe, just maybe, I would have enjoyed it so much I would have thrived. I had little interest in Italian litertaure beyond reading it. I didn't enjoy writing about it at all.

For years I couldn't understand why my father didn't say anyting. And then I realised that it was his appraoch. His way of parenting was to listen and not interfere. Sometimes that was just perfect, exactly what I wanted and needed. And sometimes, this time, I wished he'd said what he thought. I wish he hadn't stood by and wacthed me give up on my dream.

My father believed in letting people be. My 'live and let live' approach to life I get from him, for sure. He was interested in people, including me. He asked questions and listened to the answers. He didn't have any expectations of what I would do with my life or who I would become, maybe to a fault. His hands off appraoch could sometimes feel like a lack of care, but I know deep down that it wasn't. He wanted me to be independent in thought and in action. He had no desire to control or even guide me, unless I asked for his advice. And when I did, later in life, he was always forthcoming. His advice was thoughful and offered with the lightest touch. Maybe if I had asked him what he thought of me studying Italian instead of Law, he would have told me. But I did't ask and he didn't say.

Go to the next story: 36. I am not a prefect