Growing up, we lived in a tiny southern town. Let's just say education was not emphasized and curiosity made you a nerd/troublemaker/heathen, depending on what you were asking about.
One of the things that saved me was an army surplus store in the bigger down down the road. Aside from enormous tents and bayonets and such, the owner was a Ham, and sold radio-relevant stuff, too.
He was a surprisingly nice guy, and over time he encouraged me through getting my license, drilling me on Morse (this was back then) and teaching me about basic electronics theory. I ended up hanging out there quite a bit and did odd jobs for him.
I was saving for my own radio when he called us one day, saying he had something to show me. It was an old radio he said was pulled from a WWII airplane, and he'd give it to me if I built the buck circuit to power it - I remember the radio was a 28 volt system. He verified I wasn't going to burn myself down with what I came up with, - I didn't really trust myself with AC, and my mother certainly didn't.
That radio was a lifeline for me. A little window where I could talk to random folks from all over, reminding me that tiny town was just that. The most common response from other kids was, "Well, what do they have that we don't?" It seemed to be a mantra there, this weird shared inferiority complex.
I moved away for school, then my family left. The only time I've been back there was for his funeral, and I still kick myself for not making time to visit him before he died.
(The radio was destroyed in a move. First time I paid someone to move houses and they somehow crushed it.)