As a kid, when adults asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would answer right back: "A forest ranger! No, a priest!" Up on a shelf in my boyhood closet, corroborating this confusion, were my implements for playing Mass -- a metal cup used to press "hosts" out of stale Wonderbread, homemade vestments cut out of old sheets -- together with hiking books and nature field guides. Torn then between being a wilderness guy or a man concerned with public liturgy, counsel and prayer, to this day I haven't really resolved this conflict.
When Charles Lindbergh was a boy, he was plagued by nightmares of falling from high places, and he even tried to meet this fear by jumping out of trees. Did his deepest innards know even then he was destined to first solo the Atlantic? Surrealist painter Salvador Dali, it is reported by playmates, one day bit into a rotting bat, a surrealistic act if ever there was one. Schoolmates of Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scouts, witnessed that he was overeager, always ready to be useful to his teachers, to keep his friends amused and help older people.