The hills gave way to fewer hills, and, soon a more urban sprawl took over.

And, then, there was Boston.  And we slowed as we navigated the narrow, bumpy cobblestone streets.

And, as luck would have it, the restaurant that the sweet daughter chose for dinner was nestled in downtown and all the neat little shops and vendors that go along with it.

By later afternoon, the question of supper rolled around, and, someone thought wood fired pizza would be good. 

The address was Cambridge, but since I haven’t studied up on my stuff recently, I didn’t recognize it for what it was.

Until we started driving by some very old brick buildings, the story of which had their start in 1639 and has since become one of the most prestigious universities in this country.

I felt distinctly humbled and uneducated.

I wondered, if, I really had enough mentality to give pause to such a post, or even such a blog, as I have been wont to give time to. 

I saw the classrooms, all lit up with night classes and filled with students, facing away from the street and listening to the words falling, even then, from their professors’ meditations.

I saw big digital screens lit up, ready for the next group of disciples who were sacrificing the evening hours and the next few years of their lives, laying themselves fully upon this peculiar altar.

And, I heard, in the neat little pizzeria we sat in, the animated tones of those who had come from far and wide to this revered center of learning to discover themselves.

And, I realized, I heard in them, myself, some 25 years ago or more.

I saw myself, albeit in much humbler surroundings, as I approached the parts counter of the local John Deere.  I heard myself tell the parts counter man that I planned to start work there in two weeks, and, could he recommend which wrenches would work the best?

I saw my journey to the next parts store, as I continued to fill my kit with the necessary tools, although each could have been a textbook, if I had known then.

And, I heard in their voices, at the pizzeria, the same hope I heard in my voice, back then.  Because, they say, we humans always hope in some way or another, for something. 

And I heard and recognized in their hope, enthusiasm.  For life.  And all it could throw at them.  Because they felt invincible, just as I had.

Invincible, because I couldn’t have known, and neither could they, what life had on the table for me.

I couldn’t know of blazing hot service calls, without a drink for hours, and an angry customer standing nearby.

I hadn’t yet felt the accidental blows to fingers that were lifelong lessons in themselves.

I didn’t know yet of lachrymose machines that wept out never ending drops of oil as they sat, waiting, while I travailed in what seemed a vain attempt to heal their problem.

Nor could I know of friendly coworkers, without whom I would have decidedly failed.

Neither could I know of customers who, at just the right moment, offered an ice cold soft drink.

And, I never could have predicted, that some of those same customers would remain friends to this day.

So, I sat there, and I listened to them.

And, I realized that life is a great mediator, and even if they have lots of letters behind their name, it will humble and exalt them, just as it did me.

And so, in the end, I wondered.

Will their life be fuller, or not as much, as mine, because of where they went to school?

I wondered as I sat there with my dear ones and as I missed my sons who were even then working and dealing with life back at home. 

I wondered.

Did I need to feel humbled, as I sat in the presence of those who attend such a university as the one located nearby?