What I Want to be When I Grow Up

All kids have hopes and dreams. Some kids want to be firefighters, doctors, vets, astronauts, writers, chefs, housewives, video game designers, chemists, or bums. Other kids, and I think these are the smart ones, haven't a bloody clue what they want to be when they grow up. What's "grown up" anyway? Legally speaking, I am adult. I'm old enough to drink, smoke, vote, and rent a car. I have a full-time job, bills, a car, and an apartment. I remember to regularly feed my cats and I actually enjoy vacuuming. Does this mean I'm a grown-up? Eh, maybe. Maybe I just subscribe to the only-as-old-as-you-feel school of thought. Maybe I don't care if people see me as an adult.

While I know what I want to do with my life, it isn't what I wanted to be when I grew up. OK, I'll tell you. I wanted to be a cartoon. That's right, I idolized Bugs, Daffy, Marvin the Martian, and Pepe Le Pew. I wanted to hang out with Roger Rabbit and swim in Scrooge McDuck's gigantic vault of coins. I thought cartoon food would taste excellent and I would never have to deal with fat or gristle. Plus, I could take a shotgun blast to the beak and still manage to declare war.

No, I wasn't a stupid kid. I knew that people didn't spontaneously morph into animated creatures, frolicking through a neon green meadow. I now know that life can sometimes be gray and dreary and painful. I also know that life can be bright and amazing and scary wonderful. So I tuck away my dreams of pen and ink and apply myself to the task of being a grown-up - which really isn't all bad.