Knowing the implications of our very next endeavor can be impossible to know. Which, often, is for the better.
Back in 1962, when my mom was 6 months pregnant with me, the University of Edinburgh extended a slot to my dad for their surgical training program. Dad was thrilled to secure a competitive admission to one of the great institutions of the UK.
A great adventure began. Deeper into the world of medicine. Far away to a new continent, by air to London, then the famous Flying Scotsman train to Edinburgh. A new culture, new people, new life style. Oh my, oh my.
He fully intended to return armed with new knowledge to take a teaching post in Kerala, a lush coastal state in India. But once in Edinburgh, the faculty urged him to “go to Chicago” for hard core trauma experience, in a surgical residency.
So he shared the long term value of such a move with my mom, changed plans and sojourned to the Windy City. When I was around 2, my mom joined him and I was dotingly taken care of by my grandparents, particularly my mom’s parents, I believe. Finally, just before turning 4, my father insisted that I join them in the U.S.
First Passport Photo
India Passport Agency, Copyright 1966 (click for larger image)