I’m sitting on the back deck of our little Tahoe cabin with my laptop sitting on my lap where it belongs. In front of me, beyond the scraggly natural-terrain yard and fence, is the Eldorado National Forest. On my left the bike trail disappears into the trees as it winds its way to Pope Beach and Camp Richardson, a mile away.
I’m retired, with this week’s column as my only task for today, a week day. I may nap outside instead of inside this afternoon. Sue is stirring something in the kitchen. Grover Washington Jr is blowing sax out of my Bluetooth speakers. The air is warm and calm. The sky is blue. I have a pension.
How in the world did I get here? My start in life was more portentous than auspicious. Anything or nothing could have happened to me. I was born dirt poor and rural to an uneducated mother and father who worked what jobs they could find. They raised me without philosophy or prediction, without describing any life maps, or teaching me any useful coping skills. I was just one of the kids, expected to grow up, but not much beyond that. I lived in a town where all the roads out looped back in. No one was expected to accomplish much beyond work their shifts and recreate in their spare time with low-cost local activities like swimming, fishing, and attending ice cream socials.
I’m now removing my pinstripe suit from its dry cleaning bag and preparing for our dinner reservations at Evan’s, a five-star Tahoe restaurant. Susan is putting on her diamond earrings. Our newest car is gassed, waxed and ready. Afterwards we will see a show, go dancing and enjoy top-shelf cocktails, heavily tipping the wait staff and valet. A work crew has been hired to do the cabin chores. The cleaning lady comes on Mondays.
Why didn’t I settle for an unskilled factory job, an early wife, and too many kids in too small a house? Why didn’t I move in close to generations of family and spend my paychecks on utilities, used cars, and Christmas presents? How did I spin out of that close-knit orbit of unaccomplishment and land myself at a major university studying for a professional career? I wasn’t counseled. I hadn’t any role models. No one was pushing or encouraging me. How did I find my way alone in the dark?
It was easy for the middle-class kids in town to earn good grades and be shipped off to college. That’s how things were done in their circles, and every family member contributed to the corralling. Those kids’ lives were planned out on mutual maps with many permanent marker lines pointing the way. They had margin notes advising of road hazards and alternate routes. I didn’t even have a compass.
Many contemplative hours I’ve spent mulling this question. At age 5 I survived being run over by my minister who broke my bones and wiped my memory. At 7 I survived the death of my father, the senility of my grandmother, and the coming of the abusive stepfather, a certified cretin, who beat me for watching cartoons too loud and ran me from my home at age 16. I survived my older sister’s first boyfriend and subsequent rape and baby.
My teenage playmates that were not yet drafted to fight and die in Vietnam had discovered the joys of cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs, and committed their lives to the continued study of their long-term effects. I was there. I indulged. I felt the impending doom that hovered over our generation, the specter of early graves. I wanted to be one of the guys, take some risks before it’s too late, glide in the groove that was in fact a ravine. I listened to the siren’s song that led to the abyss. Why did I pull away? What kept me from falling in?
As I lie here today awake in our plush bed, propped up on goose down pillows, sipping gourmet coffee and nibbling fresh Danish, looking out at the towering trees, slow to rise on a random Tuesday to stroll hand in hand through the forest, I marvel at my small accomplishments. I revel at my illustrious career of teaching high school for 30 years, at running my own small business, at owning my own home and some rental property, at having extra cash in my wallet to buy whatever whenever, and still I wonder, how did I get here?
I have counseled a thousand children. I have marked the routes on many life maps. I’ve advised of road hazards and alternate routes for most of my adult life, and felt I had enough to say and share to fill this public news forum with 800 words a week for over 30 years.
So, what is it? What guided me through my long life to this vantage point high on my little hill? To put an end to the suspense and get to the point, I have to say, after much consideration, that it was hope that saved me, hope that propelled me forward, hope that led me to achieve and succeed and find happiness. I always felt there was something better to be had if I only reached for it.

Steve Gibbs is a retired Benicia High School teacher who has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

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