SATURDAY MEMORY
January 25, 2024

I was eight years old. I was in Dr. Dixon’s office to have my tonsils out. The operation was a success, and I asked Dr. Dixon to show me my tonsils. At first he refused, but I was insistent. He finally showed me a glass jar with a lump of tissue about the size of walnuts. I told Dr. Dixon I wanted to keep the tonsils so I could dissect them and look at them with my microscope. At that age, I was a little scientist and had a laboratory with chemistry stuff, an entomology collection, microscopes, home-made telescopes, cameras, and the like. I even published “The Tech Observer,” which included articles and pictures of various scientific projects. My buddy and I sold these issues to parents and neighbors.

Dr. Dixon said no.

So I kicked him.

The glass jar fell to the floor, and Dr. Dixon’s hand was hurt.

Though my parents always wanted me to be a doctor, even at that age, I didn’t really want to be a doctor until I had kicked Dr. Dixon. Then, I was on a path to be a doctor until my junior year in college. I was in pre-med.

I woke up one morning and was hit with the realization that no, I was not to be a doctor.

When I announced that I was changing to psychology (why this, I did not know and still don’t), my parents were hurt, and I lost my girl friend and my best friend. But I was following something I could not deny, and I did not know why. But I was impelled.