(no subject)
I’m nearing the end of my anthropology course at Cal.
I’m in an archaeology of ceramics course, diagramming Hoess vases. The instructor was pleased at my accuracy - three years of high-school drafting coming to the fore.
She says, “You could have a PhD in Hoess Vases.”
I’d be a world specialist in an obsolete pottery.
Myopic.
I would walk two miles to campus, stepping over syringes in the gutter, beggars in the street, headlines above the fold of the vending machine reading
The World
Needs
Doers.
Three years earlier, I an infantryman with the odd bedfellow of a teacher, at a gasthaus with her compatriots, and Vicki says, “You’d make a good high school English teacher.”
Uhhhh.
What?
Why?
(Perhaps it was my ability to tell the myths and legends of the places from memory. Perhaps it was my intriguing answers to her psychological “test” of me.)
How to Do.
How to Make a Difference.
And the seed sprouted.