Sometimes moms put a mantle on a son. When I was 14 my mom threw at me “is there a God?” I don’t remember what I answered. Later, I'm not sure how much later, an hour, a day, a week or a month, I gave her a different answer. She then looked exasperated and upset.
“But first you told me something different,” were her words. This, along with some other signals, made a questioner out of me, a seeker, and one who had to figure out if there was a God or not. In a way, a design was laid out for me, good or bad, and I had to solve it. I was given the mantle. For the sake of my mom, and for my sake, I had to find the answer.
One can always say I am reading into this, giving it more importance than is due. Maybe I'm just fishing for self-justification. Then again, maybe it was this mantle that set my course, even unbeknown to me. Yes, it most probably was. These early questions and impressions code us in mysterious ways.