Jul 6, 2011

Writer’s Block: When I Grow Up…

What did you want to be when you were a child? How have your plans changed for yourself? Why?

Lately I have been spending an inordinate amount of time pondering on my childhood, (don't know why at all). Childhood. Ah, the good, younger days when I had lofty aspirations and limitless imagination. When days took ages to pass and seasons evern longer. I miss those summery days in the back yard, playing on the jungle gym, and all the neighborhood night games. I also start to miss who I used to be. When I was a kid I wanted to be everything. Depending on the movies, Barbies, school mates of the day I had a world of adventure opened up before me. Nothing held me back or discouranged my hearts desire, and I had many a hearts desire. Then, as often happens when you get older, things start getting in the way. We let them get in the way most of the time. I really hate how we do that to ourselves.

Kindie Garten: I wanted to be The Dog. Ever play house in kindergarten? We did, daily. Most girls fought over who would be Mom or Sister or Aunt or Baby. I wanted to be The Dog, and could even scratch my ear with my back foot. Practice makes perfect they say, and I slobbered with the best of them.

Fourth Grade: I wanted to be Malibu Barbie. Honest, I did. My grandmother got me the pink and orange haired doll for my birthday and I was smitten. Not only did she have a swim suit and personal beach towel, but she also had a polka dot work suit with fuchsia pink fur collar my Gran purchased. That girl knew how to dress, I tell you. I wanted her rainbow hair, her Barbie jeep, and her heel ready feet. I wanted to live an endless summer. So I did, until the start of fifth grade.

Sixth Grade: I wanted to be a Golden Lion Tamarin. We, yes my friends and I even in the sixth grade, played monkeys on the Jungle Gyms. I was blond, I was lanky. It just seemed to fit at the time, a Golden Lion Tamarin. We would leap and clamber and swing. We built huts under the slide. We oo ooooed and ee eeeed to our hearts content. We were supposed to be growing up, getting ready for Junior High, but we just weren't ready yet.

Seventh Grade: I wanted to be a veterinarian. My naive impression was vets got to play, cuddle, and love the animals all day. All those kitty claws and puppy paws to bandange and kiss better. Yep, the perfect job for me. As soon as I found out you had to cut them up, stitch them up, and stick your fingers up you know where, that dream went right out the window, fast! So I switched to being a pirate instead. Easier occupation and no animal bummies involved, thank goodness.

High School: I wanted to be a popular girl. I don't really know how you can go through H.S. without feeling a little bit of this. Fortunately it faded fast. Then I wanted to be the proud owner of an amassed library, like the one Beast used to lure his Beauty. So I started my hardback collection. Still am working on becoming this library owner, but back then I soon realized it wouldn't get me anywhere aside from flat out broke with too much to haul when I moved out. Next up, I got my first job as part of a landscaping company and loved every moment. I wanted to mow lawns, set sprinklers, and play in the dirt for the rest of my life.

Sophomore Year College: I wanted to be a student. I honestly had no idea which classes to choose, what subjects to study, or where to go half the time. All I knew was I loved school! Not high school school, but this new school. This, grown up, full time, way more adult, kind of school. I took a wide assortment of classes: archaeology, biology, acting, philosophy, swimming, religion and so much more. I was all over the map, and was having a great time.

Junior Year College: I wanted to be a Communications Major. I chose this was because I had to get serious. My aspirations to be a full time student quickly dwindled when I realized it also meant being a poor cat lady who lived in a shack, never went on dates, and used moth balls on her ugly Christmas sweaters. So I analyzed the classes I had already taken and chose something I could finish fast. Alas, it was not meant to be. I was not accepted into the PR program. It crushed me at first. I thought I had found it, the thing that gave me spark. The thing I could really do and be happy. This epic failure also gave me the time I needed to really consider what it was I loved, what I could love doing, and what loved me back. Luckily I found the answer before it was too late.

Senior Year College: I found it, the calling, the defining moment, the fiery passion burning in my gut. I was born to be an English Major with a Minor in Communications. I know, incredibly anticlimactic after all the wondrous adventures of the past. I mean really, what could possibly win out over Golden Lion Tamarin? I'll tell you what, a writer! Deep down I have probably wanted to be a writer since my The Dog days back in kindergarten. When my teacher would read my writing to the class a warm glow settled in my heart and radiated all the way to the tips of my toes. My words. They were good, they were important, and they were being read aloud. To this day I love that feeling best of all. Which is why I worked in Accounting just before graduation. No joke! After all the effort of self discovery, I found myself crowding into a desk and looking at numbers all the live long day. Not ideal, but it pays the bills for now. Yes, I am still here, but this is defiantly not something I want to be when I grow up. Writing is what I do, who I am, and that which I love. I do some freelance, but that is not what I want to be either. I want to be an authoress, a winder of words and teller of tales. I want to be a storyteller, a bard, a person made of and by letters.

Today: I want, more than anything, to be a good mom. Yes, I want to tell my little boy stories, write his stories, and be a historian of our adventures together. More than that though, I want to be his parent and his friend. I want to provide for him and nourish him. I want to raise him up to be a good man, just like my Superman is. I want him to trust me. I want him to love me. I even want to change dirty diapers, be yelled at, and spit up on.

In conclusion, that really is what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be someone who can help another someone grow up too.

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