In addition to a general dislike for anything relating to physicians, there was little in my background that would have pointed to a career in medicine. As my youngest brother approaches his graduation from medical school, I started thinking of what led me to practice medicine.This is my story ... the High School Years.
"Been there, done that." "No way in hell." These are the common answers people offer when asked,
"If given a chance, would you revisit your high school years?"
With one caveat, my response would be, "In a heartbeat."
I absolutely loved high school and never willingly missed a single day.
High school was an insular environment in many ways. We were all first segregated by age and class rank which afforded an inherent sense of belonging; twenty years down the road ~ popular or not ~ one would always be a "member of the class of ~ what have you." As a student you were further encouraged to integrate into the various social and athletic constructs. While I was a proud member of the Conference and District championship swimming teams, I doubt this qualified me for the revered "jock" status reserved for football and basketball. Regardless of where one ultimately settled into the mix, we were a "family" of sorts. This provided a good deal of comfort to me.
Education was the means to an end.
To be certain, each of us was enrolled in school to get an education. But studies often seemed to be more the price of admission we each had to pay in order to reap the benefits of an even greater wealth of fun and entertainment. The first bell at every hour would have everyone searching the halls for this friend or that. The final bell and simultaneous closing of all the doors would then have every student safely ensconced within a room of thirty different friends or acquaintances all of whom were fodder for another fifty minutes of mutual entertainment ~ and education.
Looking back, I still have difficulty imagining my friends being forward-thinking enough to actually plot a course of study for the next four years while a freshman. I had initially assumed all of us would take the same compulsory courses weaving our way through high school in goose-step fashion. I had no idea we were going to be asked to make choices. It was only after our freshman year was well underway that I realized just how poor my choices had been.
"Been there, done that." "No way in hell." These are the common answers people offer when asked,
"If given a chance, would you revisit your high school years?"
With one caveat, my response would be, "In a heartbeat."
I absolutely loved high school and never willingly missed a single day.
High school was an insular environment in many ways. We were all first segregated by age and class rank which afforded an inherent sense of belonging; twenty years down the road ~ popular or not ~ one would always be a "member of the class of ~ what have you." As a student you were further encouraged to integrate into the various social and athletic constructs. While I was a proud member of the Conference and District championship swimming teams, I doubt this qualified me for the revered "jock" status reserved for football and basketball. Regardless of where one ultimately settled into the mix, we were a "family" of sorts. This provided a good deal of comfort to me.
Education was the means to an end.
To be certain, each of us was enrolled in school to get an education. But studies often seemed to be more the price of admission we each had to pay in order to reap the benefits of an even greater wealth of fun and entertainment. The first bell at every hour would have everyone searching the halls for this friend or that. The final bell and simultaneous closing of all the doors would then have every student safely ensconced within a room of thirty different friends or acquaintances all of whom were fodder for another fifty minutes of mutual entertainment ~ and education.
Looking back, I still have difficulty imagining my friends being forward-thinking enough to actually plot a course of study for the next four years while a freshman. I had initially assumed all of us would take the same compulsory courses weaving our way through high school in goose-step fashion. I had no idea we were going to be asked to make choices. It was only after our freshman year was well underway that I realized just how poor my choices had been.
Imagine, then, the horror ~ two to three weeks into the school term ~ when I suddenly found myself lost during conversations with friends as they discussed the esoterica of Biology and French ~ courses I had opted not to take. In short order, I had summarily exempted myself from participation, impotent as I sat listening to friends speaking in "languages" I didn't understand. For someone who thrives on conversation, this drove me to distraction.
I would guess there is nary a person who has endured high school who wouldn't admit to wanting to "belong" rather than setting themselves apart. Yet, through a lack of foresight or guidance, I had single-handedly managed to accomplish this by signing up for a less than prodigious workload. Not immune to the crazed need to fit in, in addition to an overarching drive to not be isolated from conversation with friends, I made the conscious decision to correct my mistake.
My best friend, Kevin, had taken Biology 1. I took Biology 1 the following year.
My good friend, Julie, had signed up for French 1. I took French 1 the following year.
Thus, the story of my high school academics became a game of "catch up." It was embarrassing.
As we eventually approached our senior year, all the "cool" guys were signing up to take a course called, "Bachelor Living." There was a concerted move afoot to assure that the men of tomorrow would at least know the rudiments of cooking and sewing. Whether or not I truly wore the imprimatur of "cool" is
While I truly enjoyed the semester of cooking, I had absolutely no intention of spending five months sewing a shirt. I had other plans.
Having discovered a true passion for Biology in the three years since the embarrassment of my freshman year, I had ravenously consumed every course offered by Ms. Redden and Mrs. Whipple ~ the much revered and dread Biology teacher of lore. Still paying a price for that freshman mistake, the most coveted course she offered still seemed out of my reach. Senior Anatomy and Physiology was offered only to those students who had completed every prerequisite course -- I was currently enrolled in the one course which would have assured my admission.
There was also the little problem that this course was held during the same hour as my "sewing" class.
Don't ask how I managed; I honestly do not remember. But, with the inexplicable agreement of Mrs. Hoax, the easy going Bachelor Living teacher, I was allowed to "skip" the entire semester of sewing all the while (somehow) inserting myself into the Anatomy and Physiology class.
I had arrived during the vaunted semester of "the cat."
Over the years as people invariably come to ask how it is I decided to pursue a career in medicine, I generally begin by speaking of "the cat." While the sacrifice of that cat certainly played a role, there are many others who were also central to the decision.
Mrs. Hoax, Ms. Redden, Mrs. Whipple, Mr. & Mrs. Bucker, "Mimi" & George Stewart, Mr. Glidden, Mr. Earnhardt, Kevin, and Julie ~ they and countless others ~ played some integral role in paving the road to my future. It is a shame I have never before sat and pondered this until now. I am convinced people are generally unaware the impact they have on others in ways great and small. What I wouldn't give to have the opportunity to let each of them know how grateful I am simply for having had the opportunity to spend those four precious years alongside them. To let each of them know how they unwittingly helped to guide me to an uncertain future.
"If given the chance, would you revisit your high school years?"
In a heartbeat, but only if I was allowed to bring all the lessons I have learned along the way.
(Including Mrs. Hoax's tried and true method for a kick ass omelet!)
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