December 31, 2008 - 23:30 MST

RITE OF PASSAGE

With an uncle of mine I used to be able to talk at length. He dignified our conversation as if between two adult people, which gave my tender ego a max surge. He was the only person who spoke to me �one on one� - like one adult to another.

I used to relate to him my plans and dreams and he would tell me stories of his life to date.

Somewhat shivery were his tales, thrilling and adventurous, laced with what would be danger to me at my age.

After some years his stories became more of the everyday events in Joe Q. Public�s life it seemed. Things tamed down, yet there was still the interest, only the balance had changed it seemed to me.

His eyes would glisten when I would tell him what I wanted to do and wanted to be and would lead to relations about his life.

Somewhere along the line I realized that I was maturing and our conversations mellowed. One day he said something like, �Well I grew older and got a bit more sense, it�s probably better that way.�

That bit stayed with me for many years, seemed like each time the realization that I had made another step into maturity led me to remember, �I grew older and got a bit more sense, it�s probably better that way.�

I�ve grown older and feel that I did gain a modicum of good sense, not as well or apparently as fast as he did, but got older for sure. While he went through the gate where he could do as he pleased with no fear of danger. I miss him . . . . . . . . .

I think he was the main spring of my RITE OF PASSAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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