"Don't forget I've got that conference call today at 5," the husband said this morning.
And how could I forget? It's been the talk of the week. His "conference call" is with Amber, a 14-year-old girl working on a class project. She's the niece of a friend. Her assignment: Find someone who has the job you hope to have one day, interview that person, and write a report.
"Go, Amber!" I said when I heard that she hoped one day to become a psychologist, like my husband. I don't even know Amber, and neither does he, but we liked what she represented.
"It's not like she wants to run off and be Britney Spears," I said. "I bet you a lot of them want to be Britney Spears."
"I don't think it's productive to trash the icons of any generation," the husband said. "Also, it's important to support young people interested in the arts."
I looked at him. Who was this man? "Okay, you're practicing for Amber?" I said. "This is your Mr. Wise and Erudite persona?"
"I want to be respectful," he said.
Good plan. As the week progressed we found ourselves talking a lot about Amber, her generation, our generation, picking career paths. She became more heroic with each conversation. She wants to be a psychologist! Obviously, she wants to help people. She wants to contribute to the greater good. She wants to reach out to those who hurt and lend a shoulder, a hand, a compassionate ear.
We wondered how she arrived at this. We used the phrase "Back in my day" a lot. Soon we were reciting songs from the 1960s and '70s, songs about making love, not war, and working toward world peace. My husband is 15 years older than I am. He and I sit on either end of the boomer generation, so his people taught mine. "Come on people now, smile on your brother. Everybody get together, try to love one another right now." Many of us believed, really believed in those anthems; a social conscience was something you wanted, worked toward, something our pop icons and, in my case, even my teachers advertised. When my high school guidance counselor sat me down and asked me what I wanted to do with my life, she didn't say, "What is your income requirement?" She didn't say, "Do you want a big house? Do you want to be famous? Would you like to travel?" She said: "What are the gifts you were given, and how do you plan to nurture them?" She said: "How will you make the world a better place?"
I didn't, of course, have answers. Sometime later, I came to understand that the questions were what mattered.
Had Amber been counseled in a similar way? My husband and I sat around wondering if anyone is anymore.
It made him feel good that Amber wanted to talk to him. He wanted to show his profession in the best light. He decided to emphasize how privileged he feels to participate in the healing process, and to just leave out the whole part about managed care.
"I think you should go heroic," I said, advising him to tell her about the Christmas Eve he spent at a local firehouse, counseling all those firefighters frozen in grief over the little girl they couldn't save.
He said maybe. He said he would have to see. He said, "Don't forget, she's going to call at 5."
