Every journey has its twists and turns, and mine has had plenty, both figuratively and literally. My home, when I came into the world, was in Medford, MA. Dad managed an automotive parts store, Mom was a homemaker, and then there was me, my brother Jim and my sister Bernice, twins who were six years older. Family lore has it that when the hurricane of 1938 came through town tearing shingles off rooves and doors off the porches, I merely slept through the storm—a good start for dealing with turbulence.
I was baptized in Medford by Father Hall who became the Bishop of New Hampshire through the war years. My Mom and Dad met at business school. On the side, Dad and Uncle John had a song and dance team. Now married, my Dad was transferred to a new store in Lebanon, NH, which was just one of our many interesting family journeys. The Lebanon transfer led to my fondest memory, and, recently, an answer to a long held “Why?” Near Christmas that year, Dad, Jim, Sis and I went off to a basketball game, but the car would not start so we walked. Lebanon gets cold in the winter. I do not remember a thing about the game or how I got home, but the next morning, in the stairwell, was a huge decorated Christmas tree, a life-long memory tucked away; I couldn’t have been more than three or four at the time.
Dad's next transfer was to Portsmouth, NH, which really started the ball rolling. Mom must have had it with New England winters, for the next three years my mother and I went to live in St. Pete, FL with my grandparents. We left Portsmouth shortly after Christmas and stayed until spring. Thus, I went to NH school and Florida school. Those three years for me were the best and the worst. I was constantly doing annual catch-up because I was a third grader who still did not know to read. But the flowers, canals, alligators, beaches and open windows of my Florida school rooms were a joy. Back home for another third grade, Ms. Stone, the principal, took me under her wing and taught me how to read and to comprehend what I read. Being a teacher’s pet was a blessing, since I had been put on the “school phobia spectrum” prior to Ms. Stone. Over time, the Lord has provided me with Ms. Stone, spell check, and an English teacher spouse. Looking back, my goal to become a teacher was set by Ms. Stone.
While in Portsmouth, the family joined St. John's Episcopal Church. Jim served at the altar, Dad sang in the choir, Mom was a member of the Altar Guild, and Sis and I sat in the congregation. That little kid who liked to sing joined the choir as its newest boy soprano and left the choir as a bass when I eventually went off to Teachers College in Keene, NH.
But what about those Fellowship years at St. John's with Father Dunn? At a Fellowship Conference at Holderness School dealing with “Pressure,” I was elected leader for the Seacoast group that gathered at St. John's. By the end of the conference, I was the champion “pressure resister.” God is good! Plus, I was introduced to the Lakes Region of New Hampshire.
Junior high came and went, and I was determined to get ready for high school football and follow in my “hero” brother’s footsteps as a center. My friend’s Gentlemen Farmer uncle in Union invited us to build some bulk later in the summer haying. It didn't happen, but, I still have the five-tine fork that was bought for the adventure. I started the summer as a camp counselor at a lake in Ossipee. After a week or so we engaged in our first Crew Swim. The bottom came up too fast, and when I came out of the water I had trouble seeing and walking. I made it to the first aid station believing that all I needed was some liniment. Instead, I was put in the camp ambulance and taken to the hospital in Wolfeboro, where I had some follow-the-finger tests and x-rays, etc... Thinking I was all set, the driver and I headed back to camp. Shortly after, a real ambulance arrived, with me strapped down this time, and we headed back to the hospital. This time an order was issued: I was to wait, not leave! The Trinity was looking out for me that day, for, as it happened, the chief surgeon from the New England Medical Center was vacationing in Wolfeboro and was called in. He told me, "Young man you are lucky to be alive. There are serious cracks in your number one and two vertebrae. Unfortunately, we cannot put you in traction. You will need to remain flat on your back. You cannot move! Can you do it? A full-body cast will be coming in a week." Apparently, for once I did what I was told. The memory that stands out is the stink that grew as those seven or eight days progressed. Finally, the cast arrived, and I was locked in from my waist to my ears for six months. Later, I was put in a Thomas Collar for a while longer. What a way for an active high school kid to learn what it is like to be "different."
Turbulence—enough already. Life changes in spades. What Now? My journey of faith and turbulence to be continued…