I learned what feels like to be called growing up in the Texas hill country. We lived in a small town that was just country enough where kids could roam, but just close enough to the city where we couldn’t get into any real trouble. We would wander, climb trees, play in a creek, run over to a friend’s house down the hill, but we knew we always had to listen for mom’s call. She would walk outside, put two fingers in her mouth, and perform that miracle it seems only mothers can do: whistle. She would call us home. I learned early on this is what it means to…