Occasionally my parents and I would go for Sunday afternoon drives, but seldom in the same direction we had gone before. My father apparently loved the idea of exploring new territories in this very simple, folksy manner of life in the 1950's. Though the car was far from luxurious, the back seat seemed huge to me, having it all to myself as I did--kind of like having my own room on wheels.
I usually took a few comic books with me in case things got long and boring in that way that adults have of making otherwise pleasant moments into sheer drudgery from the point of view of kids. I will say, however, that I mostly enjoyed sitting in the back seat peering out the window, seeing the interesting new sights as we tootled along.
I don't remember all the places we went on those drives because there was no need to--I was just a kid in the back seat. There was one, though, that I remember very explicitly--most especially a single moment of it.
On that day, my father had decided to head north from Medford (where we lived) and take a longer excursion than usual. Of course I don't have any idea what route we took because I didn't have to--I was just a kid in the back seat.
We ended up in a wonderful town. It was unlike any place I had ever been, and I thought that the houses were beautiful and I tried to imagine what it would be like to live there. Then my father, following his inner compass and instincts, made a turn off the main drag, and we passed by a place where some men seemed to be having a nice time,casually strolling along and talking. They were dressed in black suits as I recall.
For some reason, both the place and the men were intriguing to me. I don't know why (or I didn't know at the time), but I asked my parents, "What's that place?" My father said, "That's where people go to become ministers." Just for the record, I always thought ministers were strange, even scary people with their black suits and somber faces.
The town: Princeton, NJ. The place: Princeton Theological Seminary where I would go decades later to become a minister. Who knew? Certainly not my parents and certainly not me, a kid in back seat curiously staring out the window at my future.
I believe that perhaps for all of us if we have had eyes to see or memories to refer to, there have been hints graciously given to us throughout our lifetime about who we are and what we shall become, and maybe even an awareness that we don't go it alone in this world, and our lives have a meaning beyond our ability to comprehend.
Just a thought.
