Our Inheritance
ABA President Bill Bay. (Photo courtesy of Thompson Coburn)
When I was growing up, my mother sang. She was quite good, even if I am her biased son. But I tell you the truth, she had a following—and whether at church or on special occasions, she answered the call. I still remember the songs and the words. It was a gift she had, and she shared it often. I sang some, but never with as much talent. I found the law to be a better choice.
So it was with some degree of pride that I saw my youngest daughter pursue classical vocal music performance in college. I was pleased. So was my mother. She listened and praised and encouraged her.
But I did not realize how much it meant until one night when my mother gave my daughter her music. It was several boxes and contained the collective knowledge of nearly 60 years of singing. I was there for the transfer. There was printed music and other songs scribbled on pages with notes and symbols. There were handwritten notes on each one. I watched my mother talk to my daughter and go over each piece—describing the occasion each could be used, where to emphasize certain words, when to hold a certain sound, how to say a certain word and pointing out versions in different keys.
My mother knew it was not enough to own pieces of music and perform them. You must understand them. The purpose. The passion. The message. Where to hold a note. When to pause and rest. The place to be strong. The spot to be soft. On each piece of music, there were notes written from her experience—the trial and error of rehearsals and many performances. These were the things she tried to say and show as she passed the music to my daughter. Because she knew that if you understand it, know it, practice it, then the hard work makes the music beautiful. It was a lifetime of collected experience and knowledge that my daughter inherited.
The memory of that night and what it meant has resonated with me for a long time. Today, it reminds me of our democracy. We can say the words. We can name the institutions. We can enjoy the fact that we live in a democratic country. But there’s so much more. It’s understanding the music of our democracy and its handwritten notes—the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence and the Federalist Papers. It’s knowing when to stand and defend another’s rights, and when to listen to the voices and reason of others. It’s knowing about those who have defended it—the men and women who acted on their beliefs, and the leaders of each generation who spoke the appropriate words for the right occasions.
There is a lot of talk about democracy these days, but there is not nearly enough understanding of its vital importance. How it works and should work. Why it matters. You’d be surprised at what’s not covered in school. But it is more than the responsibility of schools—it is a challenge for our profession. It’s up to us to make sure the knowledge stays fresh, the experience is not forgotten and the handwritten notes are still read.
If we want democratic voices to be heard in our world, if we want to defend liberty and pursue justice tomorrow, our most important task may be the steady work we perform today as bar associations and lawyers. We must remain faithful to this crucial part of our mission.
It’s the inheritance we have been entrusted with. And it will require our best efforts to pass it on to the next generation. It will require our careful stewardship, hard work and practice. But these efforts will be well justified when future generations understand the nuance and beauty of our democracy and the people whose lives have made it so.
My mother understood the importance of music as an inheritance. Because she passed it on, I hear her voice when my daughter sings. What’s true in music is true in our democracy. If the music of democracy is heard tomorrow, it will be because we cared enough to pass on the gift we inherited.
Follow President Bay on X @ABAPresident or email [email protected].
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