Born Not Made

I was supposed to be an engineer. At least, that's what my father and my grandfather and my great-grandfather were. I'm left-brain on that side of the family going back for generations. My mother's side of the family, however, were artists. So I ride the fence between left and right brain.

It might be handy if there were some kind of test to determine what we should do with our lives, but there is only trial and error or, in my case, expectations. So it was off to college to study physics I went. Organic Chem. Quantum Mechanics.

It took a teacher to save me.

Her name was Mrs. Price, and in one of those twists of fate, I was in one of her Freshman English classes for six weeks. One of our assignments was to do a dramatic reading of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer's Nights Dream." I was Pyramus... or Thisbe... I forget which. It was fun, but I soon forgot it, as it was a time of great scientific excitement. Satellites. Men in Space.

I was a geek of the first order, even forming my own "Rocket Club," like Hiram Hickam of "October Sky" fame. I hung out with the brainiacs in my class, dreaming of a career in science until that fateful day in my junior year when Mrs. Price grabbed me out of my chemistry class and demanded that I show up that evening at "call-backs."

"Call-backs," apparently are the second try-outs for a play. Me? In a play? Yep. Mrs. Price had been waiting patiently for me to audition and just got tired of me wasting my talent. My talent? In theater?

I was cast in that play and the next three. I watched her direct. I learned to light. My whole crowd of friends changed from nerds to dramatists. I was National Honor Society and National Thespians.

So what did I do then? Right. I went off to college to study physics. Sometimes the lessons that teachers have for us take a while to sink in.