In the big black Expedition with the "funeral" flags over the headlights, we led the procession to the cemetary, the guy from the funeral home and I.
"How long have you been doing this?" I asked.
"Since eleventh grade," he said, his voice colored by memory. "I've known this was what I wanted to do for a long time."
I considered what I was like at seventeen. "I couldn't have done this in eleventh grade," I acknowledged.
"Actually, in tenth grade I thought I wanted to be a priest," he admitted. "But then..."
"Maybe not so much," I offered, and he smiled. "You know, arguably you're still in the same line of work," I pointed out. "Caring for people in a time of great need. You're just doing it differently."