CHOICES
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, 1916
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear...
CHAPTER 1
Steve Randolph was midway through his senior year in high school. He was eagerly anticipating the graduation ceremony that would be the culmination of years of study—most of which was exciting and enjoyable but some of which was little more than a tedious chore.
His role as editor of the school's yearbook gave him a seat on the student council but that was not enough to earn him admission to the social elite in the student body. If he were more extroverted and had he not devoted so much time to the yearbook and studying, perhaps the popular students would have given him more than grudging acceptance. But his reputation as what would later be called a nerd meant that he was routinely ignored in student council or, at best, tolerated.
Hours after the end of the school day, he sat in the yearbook office—a small, windowless room not much bigger than a broom closet—reflecting on a decision he had made earlier in the year and wondering if it was the right choice. He had been offered a scholarship to an East Coast university but his parents had made clear their preference that he should attend a local university. He had been conflicted over the decision and sought advice from a teacher whom he respected for her wisdom and genuine regard for her students. To her it was not a room full of bodies but each was a unique individual with distinctive needs.
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"Come in," she said cheerily after a long day of teaching six classes."
"I need some advice," Steve said hesitantly. "Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course, Steve. Problems with today's assignment?"
"No, ma'am. The assignment was quite clear. It's something else."
"Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward a front row seat and sitting in the adjacent seat. "How can I help?"
"It's about college. I've been offered a scholarship to an Ivy League school..."
"Yes, I've heard," she interrupted. "Congratulations! You deserve it."
"But I'm not sure I should accept it. You see, my parents are opposed to my going to school so far away. They want me to go to BYU. Their reasons? It's closer to home and I could visit on weekends. Also, it's sponsored by the church. They say I'd be surrounded by positive influences and not enticed by temptations in a foreign city...yes, they called it foreign. They think it's populated by heathens. On the one hand, I want the best education I can get. On the other hand, I would hate to disappoint my parents."
The teacher, always perceptive to voice tone and facial expressions, thought for a moment and said, "I can see you're troubled by the dilemma. I would be, too." (Masterful empathy was just one of her admirable attributes.) "It's not an easy decision but it's a very important one. If you want me to encourage you one way or another, I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. It's a decision you have to make on your own. And you have to own the consequences of your choice. The best I can do is to remind you of a Robert Frost poem we discussed earlier this year. Do you remember it?"
Steve struggled to recall the poem. Finally remembering it, he blurted out, "The Road Not Taken!"
The teacher smiled. "That's the one. It's not the first time you've chosen one road over another in your life and it surely won't be the last. We all make decisions constantly. Many are trivial—what to order from a menu in a restaurant. Some are more significant—selling a home and moving to a new house. A few are quite substantive—accepting one job offer over others— and thereby foregoing a potentially rewarding career. This is perhaps the first choice you make that will have profound effects on your future. The sad part is: you'll never know what's down the road not taken. You'll never know how much pain and satisfaction it would have given you. We can't know what lies ahead in the road we reject."
Steve was pensive for a few moments and countered with, "But I don't know how much pain and satisfaction there will be on the road that I choose, either."
"True," she said. "All we can do is speculate what the future will bring. You must use our own values, priorities, and experience to choose what seems to be the better choice."
They sat quietly for several minutes. The teacher let Steve absorb the counsel and weigh his options. Finally, Steve said, almost to himself, "It's a matter of soul versus mind."
"What do you mean?" the teacher asked. Although she recognized the meaning, she wanted to be sure that Steve grasped the implications.
"Soul," Steve replied, accustomed to the teacher's oblique probing. "I have to choose between family, my parents, and my religion's teaching. Mind, on the other hand, is intellectual growth and opening myself up to other cultures."
The teacher smiled again and said, "They're not completely incompatible, you know."
Steve was puzzled but resolved the issue and said gleefully, "You're right! As usual! Whatever I choose, I don't have to give up the other completely. If I stay here for college, I can also study other cultures. Even if I have to teach myself. I can learn about any academic discipline I want. On the other hand, If I go east, I can retain my faith and do what it takes to maintain family ties. Thanks, ma'am! You've been a great help."
"Even if I didn't cast a vote in favor of one choice over another?"
"You did more than that. You respected my ability—and responsibility—to make a choice. And you helped consider in making a decision."
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Steve was shaken out of recalling the conversation with his teacher when Mr. Harwood, a Health Education teacher and the yearbook advisor, walked into the room and asked, "Working late again, Steve?"
"Yes, sir. But I just finished up looking over some proofs from the printer. I guess I should be on my way home."
"That's right. They'll be locking up the building soon. I don't think you want to spend the night here."
Steve gathered up his notebooks and stood. For a brief moment, he considered asking "Woody" (as Mr. Harwood preferred to be called outside of the classroom) about another dilemma that had tortured him for years. His friendship with the man had grown during four years on the yearbook staff and included a respect for the teacher's genuine interest in students' needs and progress—in and out of the classroom. In spite of the easy rapport when working with Woody, two things muted his voice. The first was the urgency to leave the building before it was locked up; there was no time for a potentially long conversation. The second and far more compelling reason was a reluctance to reveal the cause of the torment that had plagued him since shortly after passing through puberty. It was what was euphemistically called "a love that dare not speak its name" in Oscar Wilde's trial for gross indecency in the late nineteenth century. At first, Steve denied his homosexuality. He prayed about it. He constantly chastised himself for "unclean" thoughts. He regretted his addiction to masturbation. He lived in fear of being caught admiring other boys' bodies. The fear was particularly intense in the shower after phys ed class when it took every iota of self-discipline not to let his gaze linger too long on the display of youthful genitalia lest he be caught—or worse—sprout a hard-on. That would inevitably label him as a queer, a homo, a fag. (The term "gay" only meant happy in the mid-fifties.) And he would not only be shunned but he would be persecuted by his peers.
Walking to his car in the student parking lot, he felt relieved that he had not divulged his dark secret.
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The first year of college in New York City was a difficult adjustment. A large component of the difficulties he encountered was the strange way of life in the big city. Everything was different than on his family's farm in northern Utah. His curiosity and often puzzlement was intense over crowded streets, densely packed high-rise buildings, regional accents, and what he perceived as a lack of courtesy. Also, he knew he was an oddity in his new environment. Many classmates knew less about where he was from than he knew about their home communities. Their comments and questions (if serious and not oblique sarcasm) were unbelievable:
"I took a trip out west once...to Chicago."
"Do you have television out there yet?"
"You grow sugar beets? What the hell are they?"
"How many wives does your father have?"
The major difficulty was surviving the grueling academic work and having to compete with classmates who had attended prestigious preparatory schools. Only through extensive study of things that most of his peers already knew did he barely manage to earn decent grades. The extra hours studying and a part-time job to pay school expenses left him little time for socializing or, for that matter, reflecting on his unusual attraction to men.
End of Chapter 1 ___________________________________
Steve made a choice of roads to follow. Now you, the reader, must make a choice. How do you want the story to continue?
If you think Steve will remain a virgin and conceal his homosexuality, read Chapter 2-A,
If you think he will yield to his desires, read Chapter 2-B ___________________________________