Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2013 13:01:18 -0500
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: Choices Chapter 1
CHOICES
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost, 1916
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear...
CHAPTER 1
Steve Randolph was midway through his senior year in high
school. He was eagerly anticipating the graduation ceremony
that would be the culmination of years of study—most of which
was exciting and enjoyable but some of which was little more
than a tedious chore.
His role as editor of the school's yearbook gave him a seat on
the student council but that was not enough to earn him
admission to the social elite in the student body. If he were
more extroverted and had he not devoted so much time to the
yearbook and studying, perhaps the popular students would
have given him more than grudging acceptance. But his
reputation as what would later be called a nerd meant that he
was routinely ignored in student council or, at best, tolerated.
Hours after the end of the school day, he sat in the yearbook
office—a small, windowless room not much bigger than a broom
closet—reflecting on a decision he had made earlier in the year
and wondering if it was the right choice. He had been offered a
scholarship to an East Coast university but his parents had
made clear their preference that he should attend a local
university. He had been conflicted over the decision and sought
advice from a teacher whom he respected for her wisdom and
genuine regard for her students. To her it was not a room full of
bodies but each was a unique individual with distinctive needs.
<><><><><>
"Come in," she said cheerily after a long day of teaching six
classes."
"I need some advice," Steve said hesitantly. "Do you have a
few minutes?"
"Of course, Steve. Problems with today's assignment?"
"No, ma'am. The assignment was quite clear. It's something
else."
"Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a front row seat and
sitting in the adjacent seat. "How can I help?"
"It's about college. I've been offered a scholarship to an Ivy
League school..."
"Yes, I've heard," she interrupted. "Congratulations! You
deserve it."
"But I'm not sure I should accept it. You see, my parents are
opposed to my going to school so far away. They want me to
go to BYU. Their reasons? It's closer to home and I could visit
on weekends. Also, it's sponsored by the church. They say I'd
be surrounded by positive influences and not enticed by
temptations in a foreign city...yes, they called it foreign. They
think it's populated by heathens. On the one hand, I want the
best education I can get. On the other hand, I would hate to
disappoint my parents."
The teacher, always perceptive to voice tone and facial
expressions, thought for a moment and said, "I can see you're
troubled by the dilemma. I would be, too." (Masterful empathy
was just one of her admirable attributes.) "It's not an easy
decision but it's a very important one. If you want me to
encourage you one way or another, I'm afraid I'll disappoint you.
It's a decision you have to make on your own. And you have to
own the consequences of your choice. The best I can do is to
remind you of a Robert Frost poem we discussed earlier this
year. Do you remember it?"
Steve struggled to recall the poem. Finally remembering it, he
blurted out, "The Road Not Taken!"
The teacher smiled. "That's the one. It's not the first time
you've chosen one road over another in your life and it surely
won't be the last. We all make decisions constantly. Many are
trivial—what to order from a menu in a restaurant. Some are
more significant—selling a home and moving to a new house. A
few are quite substantive—accepting one job offer over others—
and thereby foregoing a potentially rewarding career. This is
perhaps the first choice you make that will have profound effects
on your future. The sad part is: you'll never know what's down
the road not taken. You'll never know how much pain and
satisfaction it would have given you. We can't know what lies
ahead in the road we reject."
Steve was pensive for a few moments and countered with, "But
I don't know how much pain and satisfaction there will be on the
road that I choose, either."
"True," she said. "All we can do is speculate what the future will
bring. You must use our own values, priorities, and experience
to choose what seems to be the better choice."
They sat quietly for several minutes. The teacher let Steve
absorb the counsel and weigh his options. Finally, Steve said,
almost to himself, "It's a matter of soul versus mind."
"What do you mean?" the teacher asked. Although she
recognized the meaning, she wanted to be sure that Steve
grasped the implications.
"Soul," Steve replied, accustomed to the teacher's oblique
probing. "I have to choose between family, my parents, and my
religion's teaching. Mind, on the other hand, is intellectual
growth and opening myself up to other cultures."
The teacher smiled again and said, "They're not completely
incompatible, you know."
Steve was puzzled but resolved the issue and said gleefully,
"You're right! As usual! Whatever I choose, I don't have to give
up the other completely. If I stay here for college, I can also
study other cultures. Even if I have to teach myself. I can learn
about any academic discipline I want. On the other hand, If I go
east, I can retain my faith and do what it takes to maintain family
ties. Thanks, ma'am! You've been a great help."
"Even if I didn't cast a vote in favor of one choice over another?"
"You did more than that. You respected my ability—and
responsibility—to make a choice. And you helped consider in
making a decision."
<><><><><>
Steve was shaken out of recalling the conversation with his
teacher when Mr. Harwood, a Health Education teacher and the
yearbook advisor, walked into the room and asked, "Working
late again, Steve?"
"Yes, sir. But I just finished up looking over some proofs from
the printer. I guess I should be on my way home."
"That's right. They'll be locking up the building soon. I don't
think you want to spend the night here."
Steve gathered up his notebooks and stood. For a brief
moment, he considered asking "Woody" (as Mr. Harwood
preferred to be called outside of the classroom) about another
dilemma that had tortured him for years. His friendship with the
man had grown during four years on the yearbook staff and
included a respect for the teacher's genuine interest in students'
needs and progress—in and out of the classroom. In spite of
the easy rapport when working with Woody, two things muted
his voice. The first was the urgency to leave the building before
it was locked up; there was no time for a potentially long
conversation. The second and far more compelling reason was
a reluctance to reveal the cause of the torment that had plagued
him since shortly after passing through puberty. It was what
was euphemistically called "a love that dare not speak its name"
in Oscar Wilde's trial for gross indecency in the late nineteenth
century. At first, Steve denied his homosexuality. He prayed
about it. He constantly chastised himself for "unclean" thoughts.
He regretted his addiction to masturbation. He lived in fear of
being caught admiring other boys' bodies. The fear was
particularly intense in the shower after phys ed class when it
took every iota of self-discipline not to let his gaze linger too
long on the display of youthful genitalia lest he be caught—or
worse—sprout a hard-on. That would inevitably label him as a
queer, a homo, a fag. (The term "gay" only meant happy in the
mid-fifties.) And he would not only be shunned but he would be
persecuted by his peers.
Walking to his car in the student parking lot, he felt relieved that
he had not divulged his dark secret.
<><><><><>
The first year of college in New York City was a difficult
adjustment. A large component of the difficulties he
encountered was the strange way of life in the big city.
Everything was different than on his family's farm in northern
Utah. His curiosity and often puzzlement was intense over
crowded streets, densely packed high-rise buildings, regional
accents, and what he perceived as a lack of courtesy. Also, he
knew he was an oddity in his new environment. Many
classmates knew less about where he was from than he knew
about their home communities. Their comments and questions
(if serious and not oblique sarcasm) were unbelievable:
"I took a trip out west once...to Chicago."
"Do you have television out there yet?"
"You grow sugar beets? What the hell are they?"
"How many wives does your father have?"
The major difficulty was surviving the grueling academic work
and having to compete with classmates who had attended
prestigious preparatory schools. Only through extensive study
of things that most of his peers already knew did he barely
manage to earn decent grades. The extra hours studying and a
part-time job to pay school expenses left him little time for
socializing or, for that matter, reflecting on his unusual attraction
to men.
End of Chapter 1
___________________________________
Steve made a choice of roads to follow.
Now you, the reader, must make a choice.
How do you want the story to continue?
If you think Steve will remain a virgin
and conceal his homosexuality,
read Chapter 2-A,
If you think he will yield to his desires,
read Chapter 2-B
___________________________________