A Michigan Boyhood

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Well, that was that, and I went away. I never saw Mr. Bucholz again, but wherever he went and whatever he did I hope nice things happened to him.

All of this was more instructive than I realized. By the time I left Benzonia I knew that I was not going to be a musician, and in college I took a straight liberal arts course, preparing for the day when, as I told the chicken farmer, I would be a journalist; but for several years I clung to the old romantic image, telling myself that I was actually a thwarted violinist and that things would be so different if fate had only been a little kinder. Eventually, however, I came to see that all of this was nonsense; I abandoned the romantic image, and got along much better without it. I had not been thwarted at all, and fate had not been in the least unkind. Mr. Bucholz had opened the door for me and had discovered that that was not where I really wanted to go. Reflecting on my experience with him, I at last made the same discovery for myself.