About

All I knew was that at that moment, justice had to be done

It was a humid summer day in suburban New Jersey in 1973. I was ten years old. Corey Silverman (not his real name) had just stolen my little brother’s new bicycle. Right in front of our faces, and just because he could.

My brother, a skinny, shy kid, was a year younger than me, and terrified of Corey. He’d just gotten the bicycle – purple sparkles, with a banana seat – for his birthday. He was ashamed and started to cry.

I jumped on my bicycle and rode after Corey. Because I was a girl, he taunted me. “Oooooh, look at the big Sister!” As I pedaled faster after him, so did he. When he got to his house he dumped the bicycle on his lawn and scurried inside. I parked my own bicycle beside a tree, picked up the purple bicycle, and rode it home. Corey wouldn’t want my bicycle. It was a “girl’s bicycle,” after all.

My brother recently recounted the bicycle rescue story at a family gathering. It reminded me why I became a lawyer.