Literature: What I Always Knew

Thanks to Mrs. Walker, and others

(Author’s photo)

It was only in college that I understood what Transcendentalists like Emerson and Thoreau were telling me: don’t be afraid to get to know yourself, spend time alone with yourself, rely on yourself. When I was in high school, essayists didn’t thrill me, particularly the ones that asked, demanded, self-reflection (can I get an “Amen” for more self-reflection right now?).

Back then, I’d rather have been reading fiction of any kind: sci-fi, sports, dark fantasy, and occasionally, a classic. Very occasionally.

My best high school friend, Jimbo, got me reading stranger things, like Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange and HP Lovecraft’s archaic 20th Century horror. We read “Doc Savage” pulp novels, and when a series of paperbacks based on radio legend “The Shadow” came back in print, we devoured those. Jimbo was ahead of me in fine literature, so when in ninth grade English we read Romeo and Juliet and Great Expectations in Bill McInerney’s class, I might have been surprised at how involved I was in the reading and class discussions, but Jimbo wasn’t.

But at least I was bright enough to take some notes, to notice that the world around me was expanding.

I had no idea in high school what I wanted to do with my life, which clearly does not make…