My story begins
in 1947 when I was born - that's a long time ago! As of this writing, the year is
now 2019, and I am still around, closing in on the end of my 73rd year. Every story has a beginning and an end, and as I tell anyone who will
listen, I may have 30 seconds or 30 years left (we all do), so the only thing of which I am certain is the start and what has happened up until this point. We don’t know about the ending; no one really does. It’s that part that comes in between that is the story.
I was born in a time and place far, far away from where I am now - worlds away, one might say (even though the places are not much more than two hours' apart).
When I ended up in rural New Hampshire, it was to get a job. The plan was stay long enough to get enough experience to return to The Flatlands where I had been born and brought up because that was the life I knew. In New Hampshire, I discovered a whole new existence - in some ways like a Mayberry or Willoughby. As I like to say, something went terribly right, and I am still here close to fifty years later.
The NH lifestyle is not totally bucolic, though. One of my first wake-up calls regarding how different the two places are came in 1973 during my first year of teaching. I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at that point. I was standing in line at a local bank, when I overheard the name of the man in front of me. When he finished his business and turned to leave, I cheerfully said, "Mr. White (not his real name). Hi. Are you Bob's father?" (Not his real name either.) When he grunted yes, I went on, "I'm your son's English teacher at the high school."
Getting a better look at his front side when he turned and faced me, he looked pretty rough and swayed a bit. He looked me in the eye and with alcohol-charged breath, he slurred, "Well, ain't you the lucky one!" I stood speechless for a moment and watched as he staggered out the door.
Maybe I had been sheltered, but where I came from outside of Boston, family was an important part of life. I was stunned!
I was born in a time and place far, far away from where I am now - worlds away, one might say (even though the places are not much more than two hours' apart).
When I ended up in rural New Hampshire, it was to get a job. The plan was stay long enough to get enough experience to return to The Flatlands where I had been born and brought up because that was the life I knew. In New Hampshire, I discovered a whole new existence - in some ways like a Mayberry or Willoughby. As I like to say, something went terribly right, and I am still here close to fifty years later.
The NH lifestyle is not totally bucolic, though. One of my first wake-up calls regarding how different the two places are came in 1973 during my first year of teaching. I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at that point. I was standing in line at a local bank, when I overheard the name of the man in front of me. When he finished his business and turned to leave, I cheerfully said, "Mr. White (not his real name). Hi. Are you Bob's father?" (Not his real name either.) When he grunted yes, I went on, "I'm your son's English teacher at the high school."
Getting a better look at his front side when he turned and faced me, he looked pretty rough and swayed a bit. He looked me in the eye and with alcohol-charged breath, he slurred, "Well, ain't you the lucky one!" I stood speechless for a moment and watched as he staggered out the door.
Maybe I had been sheltered, but where I came from outside of Boston, family was an important part of life. I was stunned!
***
I have learned I was one of the lucky ones. In my upbringing, family and education were two crucial areas. When I was in high school, the question was not whether we would go to college but what college we would be going to. In NH, I had a lot to learn up here.
***
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