During my senior year in high school the conductor of the symphonic wind ensemble advised me to try out for the University of Oregon honor band, which was a group of top music students from throughout the state who were to meet for a few rehearsals at the University of Oregon prior to giving a concert. One day during rehearsal at my high school our conductor proudly announced the names of those who had been accepted into the honor band. Not surprisigly, he named our bassoonist and an alto sax player, both of whom were excellent musicians. Then my name came up, and I couldn't believe it. All through junior high and high school I had been the top French Horn player in the band, and I had been to a couple of music contests, but I never thought of myself as being any good. So, when I arrived at the University for rehearsal I found that I was one of eight horn players from throughout the state who had been selected. These others all knew each other from numerous contests and whatever, so I was the stranger on the block. One of them turned to me and asked, "Who's your teacher?". Without thinking I gave the name of the conductor of my high school ensemble. It wasn't until a few years later that I realized that they had asked about my teacher because they were trying to figure out my "pedigree", trying to determine the quality of the person who had given me private lessons.
My wife and I once spent a weekend in Mendocino. I made reservations for an average room at the Little River Inn, but when we arrived at the front desk I was told that they had a surprise for us. Instead of a regular room in the middle of the complex they put us across the road next to the ocean in one of two very nice suites, with a completely unobstructed view of the ocean. That was a nice start to a fine weekend.
The next day we went for a walk along the cliffs at the edge of town. The cliffs aren't high, perhaps 20-30 feet as memory serves, but with rocks all the way down to the bottom it could be a very uncomfortable fall. Beside the path that winds along the edge of the cliffs was a raised bench. As my wife is small I hoisted her up to the bench rather easily. My head was about even with her kneecaps, and after she'd had a moment to survey the area from the bench I reached up my arms to take her down. She is always joyous when we're near the ocean, so she took my outstretched arms as an invitation to jump into my arms. She caught me very much by surprise, and I rocked back and forth on my heels for a second, with a whirlwind of thoughts about what might be about to happen, before catching my balance and lowering her onto the path. She knew immediately when I caught her exactly what was happening, so she was quite thankful to end up on the path rather than the rocks below.
When I was in grade school I recall that we had a religious education class. The class wasn't required, and I remember my puzzlement when one or two students out of 30 opted out. The class was taught by a former missionary to Taiwan, once per week on Friday. To me it was just an extension of Sunday School, and seemed quite natural. Today, I suppose that anyone who even proposed such an idea anywhere in the country would be dismissed from the school immediately, long before the lawsuits began flying.
Things didn't change all that much when I got to junior high. Every Thursday morning some 50-100 students would meet in the choir room before classes began in a Christian fellowship group. This operation was organized by one of science teachers, and supported by a number of others.
High school changed this trend only slightly. Approximately 100 students met in the choir room on Tuesday mornings for a Christian fellowship group. Our wind ensemble routinely had a group prayer before our performances. Once, a South American evangelist had a Billy Graham-like crusade in our high school gymnasium. Our class valedictorian, however, was asked to tone down any Christian message in her speech. That was about the only restriction I ever saw during my entire education prior to college. By the way, I'm proud to say that our class valedictorian is now a missionary overseas. As are several of my high school friends. As are many of my college friends.
Growing up, we had a pasture and forest behind our house, and a stream that ran near the edge of the forest, sometimes just inside the treeline and other times just outside. Just inside the forest was an area with fallen trees and steep banks along the stream where we often played. One day my older sister decided to build a bridge across the stream. She took many straight branches, about 2-3 inches in diameter, and laid them across the narrow stream. I thought that was a good idea, so I began my own construction project downstream a few yards. The banks of the stream were steep at this point, and lent themselves quite well to the building of a dam. I spent weeks building my dam, with one diabolical goal in mind. Finally I had a dam, complete with spillways, that was a couple of feet high. I plugged the spillways and the water rose... and rose... and rose. Before very long my sister's bridge was under water and I couldn't have been more pleased with my achievement!
I didn't have to go to school to play on a jungle gym; we had one in our own backyard. Actually, it was a huge tree that fell one year, and as the trunk was rotting away there grew up branches, branches that grew several tens of feet high. My sisters and I would play tag on this fallen tree, jumping from trunk to trunk, swinging around the 2-4 inch thick branches that were growing. I had a unique advantage, in that I would run straight at one of the young branches and slam into it, careening off onto one of the other old, rotting branches and continuing uninterrupted with my sprint. I got used to this, bouncing my body off of trees. Now, fast-forward 30-40 years. My wife is small, and bruises easily. She will no more than bump a chair or a piece of furniture and she gets bruised. So I'll go walking through the house, not watching where I'm going, and I'll hit a door frame or something big, and she'll rush over to me, worried that I'm in great pain. Meanwhile, I'm looking at the door or whatever it was that I ran into, wondering if it's broken or cracked.
Some people set lots of goals for themselves. Others set a few
very targeted goals. I have had goals throughout my life, though many of
them I did not recognize as goals until long after I reached them. The
most significant of those that I now recognize are:
I have never been afraid to talk about the forbidden subjects of sex, religion, and money. So, one day at lunch I was talking with a co-worker. She was a summer intern, about 16 or 17 years old I think, and I knew her aunt, who worked in human resources at the company, and her uncle, who was a former church pastor. Somehow we stumbled upon the subject of abortion, and I let her know in no uncertain terms what I thought about it (pro-life, you might call me). I completely forgot about the conversation until some six or nine months later, when her aunt called me up (I had left the company to attend school full time to finish my Master's degree) and told me that her niece had originally planned to have an abortion, in spite of her family's urgings to the contrary, but based on her conversation with me at lunch that one odd day, she reconsidered. She had her baby, and placed him up for adoption. I don't know his name, but he's probably not far from his high school graduation now. I didn't have to protest. I didn't have to get in anyone's face. I just shared my thoughts with a co-worker one day in the company breakroom. She had her son willingly, not because she was forced to. I wish him success in his life, wherever he may be right now.