	Bob Hostetler > Writing

Things I Never Saw Coming

by Bob Hostetler

The day after President Bush announced his nomination of Judge Samuel Alito to the Supreme Court, enterprising journalists discovered Alito’s 1972 Princeton University yearbook. The entry next to the photo of a young Alito in horn-rimmed glasses revealed his intention, way back then, to “go to law school and eventually to warm a seat on the Supreme Court.”

Wow. Thirty-three years ago, Samuel Anthony Alito dreamed of the Supreme Court, and now is a mere fifty-one Senate votes away from fulfilling that prediction.

I find that amazing. All the more so because, thirty-three years ago, I never thought I’d be where I am now. Of course, when Alito was graduating from Princeton, I was immensely grateful just to have survived eighth grade. Still, I could never have foreseen the future with anything close to Alito’s prescience.

I never thought I’d be a writer. I did purpose (five years later, at the age of nineteen) to write at least one book before I died, but I never could have guessed I’d be awaiting the release of my twenty-first book (watch out for shameless plugs ahead) in January, with the title American Idols: The Worship of the American Dream.

Back then, I never thought I’d be a pastor, much less help to plant a church. A rock star or baseball star, maybe. A disc jockey, probably. But a pastor, not so much.

I never thought I’d be paying good American money for bottled water. In fact, when bottled water first hit the marketplace, I vowed I’d never spend money on something I could get for free from my kitchen tap.

Along those same lines, I never thought I’d pay for television…or even radio, for crying out loud! Or that I’d ever wonder how I managed to live without the History Channel and XM Radio.

I never thought I’d pay $3 for a gallon of gas. Sure, the price has come down in the last couple months, but it’s also certain to go back up. And, while I’m pricing bicycles, scooters, and other alternative modes of transportation, I still find myself paying more for a tank of gas than I would have thought possible even a few years ago.

I never thought I would have to endure commercials at the movie theater. Cheesy concessions ads, yes. A few too many previews of coming attractions, sure. But you-paid-eight-bucks-to-get-in-here-and-we’re-STILL-gonna-make-you-sit-through-several-minutes-of-crap-we-wanna-sell-you, honest-to-God, big-as-you-please (bigger, actually) commercials? Never. Never saw it coming. Never thought the American public would stand—er, sit—for it.

I never thought I’d be able to blame so many things on global warming. Back when young Sam Alito was setting his sights on the Supreme Court, my Weekly Reader and science textbooks seemed far more concerned about the next ice age. Sure, it was thousands of years in the future, but we were stressed, nonetheless.

I never thought I’d be old enough to be using my fifth form of music recording (vinyl records, tape cassettes, 8-tracks, CDs, MP3s).

I never thought my kids would have to inform me they were too old to sit on my lap (they’d discussed it between them and entered into a cold, calculated pact to break their daddy’s heart). And I never thought a natural and necessary part of the growing up process could make me feel so lousy.

I never thought I’d eat spinach, asparagus, or lima beans once I grew up (I’m still pretty opposed to the lima beans). I never thought bell bottoms or hip hugger pants would come back. I never thought the Rolling Stones would still be playing—or even still alive—in 2005. I never thought I’d see Alice Cooper or Bob Dylan doing commercials, or come to associate Led Zeppelin music with the newest Cadillac. I never thought I’d be drinking diet pop…or fat-free ice cream! I never thought I’d be making phone calls from my car. I never thought my son would have more piercings than my wife.

Come to think of it, I never thought I’d be pushing fifty, either. Back in Sam Alito’s undergrad days, I thought the world would certainly come to an end before I reached forty-five. It didn’t, of course. Unless you count the day Chevy Chase left Saturday Night Live.

I never saw that coming, either.

This article appeared in the November 5, 2005, edition of the Hamilton Journal-News.

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