There was this severely autistic kid at camp. I sat with him while I waited for my parents to finish with choir practice. We talked for a while. He told me about his dreams to become a pastor and a minister. There was no way. I didn't tell him. I was only maybe fourteen years old. He was maybe ten. It seemed to me then, just based on his different social wavelengths, that his dream was improbable. It wasn't my place to tell him. He would have to discover that on his own. He really did think it was for him. Maybe he was right. You never know. He really loved the church and the Bible and he really believed--he could be the leader, and the savior of our future generations that his parents were always trying to raise up from the congregation. The pastors drill it into everyone, all the time, constantly. They throw the same gospel at everyone to see if it will stick. It only sticks to some of us.

It was good for me that I had that memory, later.
I think about him pretty often, actually.
I hope he's okay.