Some of the people who knew me in school would tell you that I havenít lived up to my potential. Thatís because I got good grades, won a few awards and got into the college of my choice. The people who knew me then probably thought I would make something of myself. I certainly thought so, but whatever this is, this isnít it. And now, three months and one day short of turning sixty, my potential is significantly foreshortened, compared to what I once thought it was.
On the other hand, I didnít make much of an impact on the overall high school scene, so this (whatever it is) is probably what could have been predicted by a keen observer. Not that there were keen observers in my high school, any more than there are in any other public high school at any given time in history. As I try to impart to my younger friends, high school means nothing. For the most part, itís a poor predictor for the rest of your life.
There are times, and most of yesterday was one of those times, when I wonder what itís all about. Having lived this long (and having had so much potential), should I be spending sleepless nights thinking about how much bait and ice weíre selling? (Yes, we have a bait shop at The Kennel.) I shouldnít be having imaginary arguments with the Boss that end with me slamming my fist into the wall. (That part isnít imaginary, by the way.)