A few nights ago at the local library, while finishing a Stephen King hardback (purchased a few years ago), I was interrupted as an attractive young blonde woman stopped by my table and began a conversation. After glancing out the large window beside me to witness the fantastic meteor shower which surely must have been occurring on such an unusual night, I refocused on what she was saying. She introduced herself and explained that she was a college student currently in an occupational studies course of some type and needed to briefly interview a few people for an assignment/project. Because she was so pleasant and wanted information that I'm very knowledgeable about [me], I agreed to help. She began asking my name and occupation. She then asked where was the most interesting place I'd ever been. I responded, "South Korea." Then, the questions started getting harder. She asked what was my funniest experience. Although I've had many humorous experiences and strive to always seek/see the humor in everything, I couldn't, at that moment, recall any particular experience. So, I told her a funny story of my father's childhood experience. She laughed, then asked me the next question so that I could begin pondering it while she wrote the short anecdote I'd just given her. She asked, "What was the greatest experience of your childhood?" WOW! What a doozie?! I'm still pondering that one days later. I struggled briefly and then told her that it was probably sometime in the seventh grade when I advanced from comic books to escapist fiction paperbacks. That response earned me the only confused (and maybe somewhat sympathetic) look that she gave me. She thanked me for my time and shook my hand and left. Now, I continue to wrestle with that question. It's very difficult to identify from all of your childhood, the single greatest experience. First, one should TRY to identify the period of time that is considered to be "childhood". It varies from culture to culture. For some it ends at twelve [after some survival ordeal and a ritual, and maybe a tattoo]. For some in our culture it doesn't end even in your forties. We have no true "right of passage" (I wasn't certain of full adulthood until about the age of twenty-five--after Marine Corps Boot Camp, marriage and fatherhood). One also needs to realize that some of our childhood memories have been repressed, and others have been edited and imaginatively enhanced by our brain's memory and organization section. Then, the search can begin. The Christmas when I got a brand new bicycle was pretty good! That trip to Disney World shortly after they opened was awesome! Maybe that's too materialistic. When I thought that my parents had decided to cancel their divorce and stay together, that was nice ('though brief). There are many warm/satisfying moments in a childhood. That one afternoon--just mom and me at the malt shop. At about the age of six years, padding down Grandpa when he came through the door, only to find a small pack of cookies in his pocket. Resolving problems from a bully by sweeping his legs, pouncing on him and delivering more than 14 punches to his entire upper torso with much emphasis on his head. Or, one of the those extremely rare moments when the teacher singled me out for some positive recognition. Winning a poster contest provided some validation! The few magical, if not delusional, weeks in high school when a long admired girl suddenly began greeting me and smiling and making me dare to believe that the universe had great plans for me after all. That was a very euphoric but uncertain time! A brief, but favorable, review for performing in the high school musical. It's really a task to gather and compare all of those memories for some type of ranking. Still, I'm on it, or at it, or whatever. Oh, I forgot, her final question for me was (something like) what advice would I give to young people getting started. I said, "Don't rush into things--especially important things. Give long and careful thought to important decisions and TRY not to waste time going in the wrong direction before changing course again and again. She then asked, "But, don't the wrong turns and the mistakes make you who you are?" I said, "Yeah, there's some truth in that." Those left turns at Albequerque are why so many of us don't have financial independence and have to show up most days of the week and try to meet the requirements of others, while laboring at something that we have no real passion for.