Seven

I drive the narrow two-lane road into town.  The town where I grew up.  On the very street where I drove to and from work in high school.  Where I drove if I wanted to leave town.  Where I drove to come home from college. 

Tweny years ago, I was driving on the same road.  I'm quite certain I was listening to the same music.  The songs that were so new and fresh and wonderful at the age of 17 brought back brightly packaged memories.  Stinging pain and sly smiles.  A sense of wonder.  A question:  How did that young man from 20 years ago turn into this full-fledged adult?

Sitting in the car with me, my wife and daughter took in the familiar sites.  I was aware that my daughter was making memories.  That driving into this town with these songs might be forever etched in her mind - or might become part of a faded set of general memories of going to see Grandma. 

I was transported to my own long ago treks to see my father's family.  Of the long drive and the turn off the highway exit that meant we were merely minutes away.  I wondered how my daughter would remember these trips.  I wondered if there would be a time when this would be our home.  When I would go home again and build a new life based on the strong foundation of my current one. 

I became keenly aware of being 17.  Of that time when there were no worries.  I went to school and I went to work.  The summer 20 years before this one was easy and carefree.  There were camps and work days and college decisions. 

At 17, I often thought of my future.  Of the time when I would fall in love.  Of the time when I would be married.  When I would become a father.  Now, those times have passed.  That innocence and wonder is gone.  In my daughter, I find it again.  A sense of wonder.  Her approach to the world reminds me of my own.  Of the way I looked at things -- even at 17. 

I also thought of the day when my world changed.  I was 13.  A phone call came and my mother answered and my life would be forever different. 

I wondered if my daughter would ever face such a time.  If at 10 or 15 or even as soon as 7 -- would there be a call or an event that would take away a bit of her innocence? 

But I recall that by 17, my life was my own again.  The change happened, I adapted and moved on, and I was bright, innocent, open. 

Now, I can more clearly see the future.  More drives in on the two lane road where nothing much changes.  More songs and memories.  More wonder about what's next.  More awareness that what's next is more of the same.  That a lot happens very fast from 17 to 25.  Then, nothing.  You get on a path and stay there.  Sure, it's a good path.  Straight and clear with only a few manageable bumps. 

Do I want to stay on this path? 

What have I done?

What will I do next? 

Will I claim this life as mine? Or, will I get off the path and move to a new one?  Will I change scenery and stay the course?

What if the potential change I see is not the change I really need?  What if I don't need a change at all?

Perhaps, in spite of a clear vision of the next 20 years, there's a surprise.  Of course there is.  But, will it force me off the path?

I keep driving and pass my old church, my former school, and arrive home. 

Six

I met M's family just two weeks after we were engaged in a Kroger store.

I hadn't told anyone -- most people who knew me, including my then-girlfriend, assumed I'd be proposing to her over that Holiday break.  My family thought I was going to visit her just before Christmas. 

M and I had agreed, after the euphoria of that night calmed, that we would marry AFTER she graduated in a year. 

Her family was large.  Not her immediate family, just M and a sister. 

But the extended family with whom they visited.  They also enjoyed wine in large quantities.  Something new to me at family gatherings.

Her father, a retired prison warden, lived away from the family until the last year, when his assignment was complete. 

Her mother had worked secretarial jobs off and on to stay busy and to make friends, especially once the girls had been safely engaged in college. 

They were a beautiful, fun family.  Somewhat less "proper" than my own extended family, at least on my mother's side.  But delightful and fun. 

Of course, they were incredibly curious about me.  Her mother did report hearing about me quite often.  Otherwise, I was a mystery. 

I had secured a decent job post-grad school and was doing ok, but -- what did I want to do long-term?  Where would M and I live?

We survived the couple days of scrutiny and her parents were assured when they saw us together, alone.  There was that fuzzy, magic feeling of new love and also the comfort of being with someone you feel you've known forever.

I knew I had difficult days ahead, though.  A woman who had expected a proposal, who soon would start asking for one or would withdraw from our relationship. 

Would I tell her what had happened?  Or, just let it go.  Let the two of us become a thing of the past.  A memory. 

Nothing was wrong with us, really.  We got along well.  We connected on many levels.  And yet, this ... thing with M felt right.  Impulsive? Sure.  But right. 

And it made me realize that I was alive.  In a way I hadn't before.  I knew I could pursue my dreams.  Follow them whereever they took me.  And she would be there. 

And so I drove home.  Alone and quiet.  I played no music on the three hour, scenic drive that took me to my mother's house. 

After the new year -- not sure how soon after -- I would tell her that I was engaged.  And tell her more about M. 

She would understand, in time. 

My happiness would be her key.