Hilton Head In Two Parts 

Part One: Thirty Years of Trial Lawyers and Questionable Decisions

For nearly thirty years we’ve made the same pilgrimage to Hilton Head for the South Carolina Trial Lawyers Convention. This year Chad is getting an award for being an awesome trial lawyer. This conference has become one of those landmarks on our calendar—the kind where you don’t even have to ask, “Are we going this year?” Of course we’re going. We always go.

What’s funny is how different the trip feels depending on which decade you’re remembering.

When Chad and I first started going, we drove a car that came with its own environmental hazard. We kept a cookie sheet underneath it to catch the oil that leaked overnight. Nothing says “future legal powerhouse” quite like arriving at a luxury beach resort in a car that appeared to be actively bleeding.

We’d pull into this beautiful resort surrounded by people who looked polished and successful, carrying fancy luggage that probably cost more than our car. I always felt a little out of place. We were young, trying to figure everything out, and hoping no one noticed our vehicle was one pothole away from qualifying for hospice care.

Still, I loved those trips.

People invited us to nice dinners. Someone else picked up the check. At that stage of life, a free meal at a fancy restaurant felt almost as exciting as winning the lottery.

Back then Chad had hung out his own shingle because, quite honestly, nobody would hire him.

There was one lawyer we always seemed to have dinner with who had interviewed Chad years earlier. I’ll admit, I quietly held a grudge against him for a long time. Every time we’d see him I’d think, You should’ve hired my husband.

Funny how life works.

Not getting that job turned out to be one of the greatest gifts we never wanted. If someone had hired Chad, none of the life we’ve built would have looked the way it does today.

Eventually Hilton Head became less of a work trip and more of a family tradition.

We started bringing the kids, and my mom came along too so she could watch them while we went to dinners in the evenings. Those years were wonderfully chaotic. I distinctly remember discovering that hangovers don’t magically disappear simply because two little girls want to build sandcastles at 7:00 in the morning.

Nothing humbles you quite like trying to supervise toddlers on the beach while wearing oversized sunglasses and silently negotiating with your own stomach. Those experiences dramatically improved my judgment at the open bar.

There were, of course, parenting moments we’d rather not have shared with hundreds of strangers. One afternoon I reminded the kids, “Please don’t pee in the pool.”

Cam, ever the rule follower, immediately climbed out of the water, walked over to the landscaping, dropped his swim trunks, and peed on the bushes in full view of everyone eating lunch on the patio. Technically…he had followed instructions.

That became the day we introduced the finer points of public urination etiquette.
You can pee in the ocean.
You cannot pee in the pool.
And if nature calls anywhere else, let’s try to keep it between ourselves and the nearest restroom.

At the time I thought we’d never recover from the embarrassment. Now, after thirty years around trial lawyers, I can confidently say that wasn’t even close to making the list of memorable convention stories.

I’ve seen just about everything over the years. Some stories are hilarious. Some are legendary. Some are now miniseries. Most probably shouldn’t be repeated in writing.

What has remained constant through all of it is Chad. This has always been his profession. I’ve simply had a front-row seat.

I’ve watched him lose sleep over clients who had nowhere else to turn. I’ve watched him carry the weight of other people’s tragedies home with him because he genuinely cared. I’ve watched him celebrate victories that weren’t really victories at all—because no verdict or settlement can restore someone’s health, bring back a loved one, or erase what happened to them.

What he could do was make sure someone listened. He could fight. He could stand beside people during the worst chapters of their lives and make sure they weren’t standing there alone.

Thirty years ago we drove into Hilton Head wondering if we belonged. Now, when I look around, I don’t think about the fancy cars or the expensive dinners anymore. I think about the life we built after nobody gave Chad a chance. And I think about how grateful I am that they didn’t.Because I believe, with every fiber of my being, that the world is better because Chad decided to build something of his own.

Part Two: Give Me the Baby

We rolled into Hilton Head for the annual conference, which for the past five years has been held at the Hilton. Before that, it was at the Westin. I mention this because apparently I had developed an entire mental operating system based on the layout of the old hotel, and moving the conference across the island had thrown me slightly off my game.

Also missing this year: children.

For years, arriving at this conference meant coordinating beach toys, sunscreen, snacks, bathing suits, goggles, and several small people who were constantly losing something they had been holding approximately thirty seconds earlier.

This year, I was responsible for Chad and myself. Which sounds easier, although Chad does come with an airplane.

Our flight down was a little spicy. Summer weather in the South means enormous thunderstorms can suddenly appear in front of you, looking less like weather and more like something from the Book of Revelation. We were weaving around giant cells with clouds towering into the sky and lightning flashing inside them.

From the passenger seat, you look out the window and think, That seems bad. From the pilot seat, apparently you think, We’ll just go around it. So back in the passenger seat, When are you going to start going around because that cloud is getting closer. 

So we basically flew to Myrtle Beach, took a right, and followed the coast down to Hilton Head. Not the most direct route, but I have reached the point in my aviation career where I am very supportive of any route that keeps us out of the clouds containing lightning.

Once we landed, Hilton Head greeted us with patches of sunshine and the sort of humidity that makes you wonder why you bothered doing your hair.

We got to the hotel, saw some old friends, and learned that a giant bus had been arranged to take everyone to dinner at Red Fish. We decided to Uber because we were worried there wouldn’t be enough room on the bus.

Once we arrived, we did the usual family-hold-back while the judges, guests, friends of friends, and assorted important people found seats.

This eventually landed Chad, Cam, his girlfriend Audrey, and me at a table with Nash and Ryan, two of the newer attorneys at the firm. And suddenly I realized: We were at the kids’ table. Except somehow I was one of the old people at the kids’ table.

Nash and Ryan were probably mortified with this seating arrangement because I spent most of dinner peppering them with questions about who they were, where they came from, and basically everything short of asking for their Social Security numbers.

They were delightful, both just starting their careers and roughly 25 years behind where Chad and I are now. And then came the more disturbing realization: I am probably the same age as their parents.

Nothing adds sparkle to an evening quite like discovering that the promising young professionals sitting across from you could technically be your children.

Nash had brought his lovely wife and their three-month-old baby boy, whom I went down to meet on the beach the next day. There is really no graceful way for a woman my age to approach a young mother she has never met and essentially say, “Hi! I hear you’re Nash’s wife. Give me the baby.”

I tried to make it sound less like a kidnapping. I’m not sure I succeeded.

But holding that little baby made the whole weekend suddenly feel surreal, because I swear I was just here doing exactly what she was doing. I remember coming to this same conference pregnant with Cam, wearing an enormous blue bathing suit and looking like a blueberry that had been left in the sun too long. And now Cam was standing there with his girlfriend.

That is the strange thing about getting older. You don’t necessarily feel like you’ve changed all that much, and then suddenly you find yourself at the same conference, on the same beach, watching the next generation arrive with babies while the baby you brought here is now old enough to bring a girlfriend.

The weekend culminated with Chad receiving an award at the ceremony. Ashley introduced him and did such a wonderful job. You could tell how genuinely happy she was to be the one presenting him, which made the whole thing even more special.

Then Chad got up and gave a speech. And it was actually really good. So good, in fact, that I may try to convince him to let me publish it here. After all, I spent years hauling his children, beach toys, snacks, and assorted family equipment to this conference. I feel like I’ve earned the reprint rights.