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%u00a9Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights ReservedHOW TO LEGALLY QUOTE FROM THIS BOOK54 Jack Fritscherthe fourth of the twelve rungs toward the priesthood. With high school ending in the spring, I would be one-third of the way to Holy Orders.Thommy came in from the garage. He wiped his hands on a red mechanic%u2019s cloth. Charlie-Pop liked Thommy using his tools I couldn%u2019t touch. %u201cTake care of yourself,%u201d Thommy said.%u201cYou%u2019re the one,%u201d I said. %u201cSee you in six months,%u201d he said.%u201cLove you,%u201d I said.%u201cLove you too.%u201d He scooped up a piece of pie in his fingers and walked out. At the snowy railroad station, from the train window, I watched my mom and dad, between the white clouds of steam, standing in the freezing wind. The heavy glass between us left nothing but the sad last wavings of good-byes. Annie Laurie moved her arm in the quick jerky fashion of women who are exhilarated by the cold.I constrained myself, holding my palm up and out, pressing on the cold window glass, in a single immobile gesture. Was the cold suction on my palm worldly vanity, spiritual discipline, or movie-acting? Wearing my new clerical black suit, with other passengers watching, I could not afford any show of scandalous attachment unbecoming a seminarian. Priests and seminarians were supposed to set a good example when out in the world.But deep inside me the vast homesickness welled to an ache of emptiness. I wanted my mom and my dad and my dog. Even my brother. I wanted to fill the void with something. I wanted God to fill it with Himself and His grace. Outside, Annie Laurie jumped lightly, twice, waving briskly while holding onto my father%u2019s arm, as the train finally pulled away, leaving them on the cold platform.The priests told us no vocation was given free. Anything of value has its cost, even with God. I paid the down payment on the price, my palm slipping down the cold glass, sadly, willingly, suddenly realizing my celibate life would always be pulling out of stations, steam, whistle, chug, movies, where I loved too much the world where I did not belong.January 4, 1957 In deep snow, I returned in a taxi stuffed with six other senior-high boys to the red-brick mansions of Misery.%u201cYeah,%u201d the taxi driver had said, %u201cthe Divinity School.%u201d Only a Protestant would call a seminary a divinity school. %u201cSeven of youse boys is all I can take. What%u2019s with all the fub duck suitcases?%u201d