Childhood Dreams

I'm taking another crack at the weekly writing prompt from Studio 30 Plus. This week it's: Childhood Dreams.

********

Okay, quick show of hands...

Back when you were a child, do you remember how much you dreamed of growing up to be an account manager? Or about the all times you ran up and down the yard pretending you were a busy executive assistant trying to get your boss' coffee and dry-cleaning delivered so you could stave off the inevitable meltdown of said boss? And, of course, who could forget picking up your toy phone and playing telemarketer? If you've hand up for any of these then I hope that the bullies you encountered growing up were lenient at least at Christmastime.

Now, for those of you who may be employed in any of these fields, please know that I am not putting down any of you (well... maybe telemarketers). I'm merely making a point that, as children, we all dreamed of growing up and living a life of adventure and excitement. That's just natural, I guess. I'm sure I'd see more hands raised* if I asked how many of you wanted to be an astronaut, or a fireman, or a pilot, or even a doctor. Those, we pretended to be. Those, we dreamed of becoming one day. Saving lives, exploring new frontiers, sailing the high seas or soaring through the clouds are all so freakin' cool! Right?

When I was a child, I remember I would lug around my father's Samsonite briefcase in my games of pretend. Not because I wanted to be an office supervisor, but it looked like the one James Bond in that movie that time. The seemingly harmless items inside were, each and every one of them, an instrument of torture or death. That sheet of paper would slice your head clean off. That ballpoint pen, a high power laser beam in disguise. And, for the love of all that was holy, don't make me use the paperclip!!!

I still have nightmares about the last time someone made me you the paperclip...

So what happens? When do we go from wanting be an international super-spy, clearing the world of dictators and genius megalomaniacs to clearing photocopier jams? How did we go from a mug of ale at the tavern with our crew-mates after a day of pillaging and plundering to gathering around the cooler for water from a paper cup when the boss wasn't around?

You don't have to answer. I know. Real life happens. We lose interest. We find new interests. Bills, loans, kids, etc all eventually pop up long after we move on from those aspirations and put the final nails in the coffin.

But, realistically speaking, most of us don't miss those dreams. Most of us never grow up to be who we wanted to be when we were five. And, for the most part, we're okay with that. If we were all astronauts, who would make sure our retirement nest egg was in the right long-term savings plan?

So what? I didn't grow up to be a spy (or... did I?), that radioactive grasshopper never bit me and bestowed upon me superhuman jumping powers (the spider idea was already taken, okay?) and I'm not a doctor (though, sometimes, I do play one in bed). Life goes on.

Oh! And, for those fortunate few of you that do get to go on to live your dream, I hate you salute you and hope it is all you dreamed it would be.

* Since I can't actually see if your hands are raised, please feel free to feel like an idiot if you actually did put your hand up.