Capitalizing on the conversation with my son as an opportunity for direction on things in life that really count, I began to ramble about what I wanted to be when I grew up — if I ever did. Which, I haven’t.
“Teaching kids to count is fine but teaching them what counts is best.”
— Bob Talbert (1936-1999), sportswriter, editor, and columnist at The State newspaper in Columbia, S.C.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
We posed that quintessential question to Shelby County first graders a couple of weeks ago, and the results are in this week’s edition of the Light and Champion. It’s our annual look into the minds of those who will shape our tomorrow.
Asking a child what they want to be when they grow up is a question typically posed by those who have already achieved some degree of success with their answer. However, my son, Lee, played the game well with me some years ago.
Trying to recall what I dreamed of being at his age then caused me to wish I had been one to keep a diary on those kinds of thoughts. However, writing a column off-and-on for almost 40 years has been a similar exercise.
As we prepared to publish the comments of 2022’s first graders, it reminded me of that same conversation with my son when he was about 12 and a column I wrote about it then. So, revisiting that piece fits well with the theme of this week’s newspaper.
“Dad,” Lee asked with a smile, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Actually,” I responded playfully, “I don’t plan to grow up i
I can help it. What do you want to be?”
“I don’t know,” he smiled with a shoulder shrug, making me realize it was a question he had been asking himself.
And, honestly, “I don’t know,” is sometimes the best I can do for myself, even today. Forty, 50 then 60 sailed by faster than Superman’s speeding bullet — a sobering occurrence for one who vowed long ago never to grow up.
For me, it was a cowboy or a fireman and everything in between. I often daydreamed of flying airplanes. Other times about driving trucks. But every summer afternoon, when the ice cream truck turned onto Redbud Street in Mount Pleasant, I knew what I wanted to do. Visions of driving the ice cream truck captivated any and all aspirations I had about the future.
My high school buddy, Doug Davidson, got that gig once in the early 60s. Even as a teenager, I enviously watched him bring joy to the neighborhood kids in the form of fudge bars, Dixie cups and Dreamsicles.
Nonetheless, I offered some advice that I hoped he would take to heart as he grew up — which, he has. He is now 42.
“Whatever I wanted to be,” I began, “I hope I’ve grown up to become someone who is not pretentious: trying to be anything other than who I am. I also hope I’ve grown up to be someone who says good things about people when they deserve it. In other words, being myself and being an encourager for others.”
Noticing that I still had my son’s attention, I slipped in one more.
“I’ve tried to grow up laughing at myself as needed. Oh, most importantly, trusting God to run the universe and quit trying to do it myself. Although, that one has been difficult”.
Guessing I had by then exceeded the attention span for 12, I decided to wrap it up while I was presumably still ahead.
“And hopefully, I’ve grown up devoting as much time to keeping my body and mind as heathy as I have my cars.”
“Or, your dog,” Lee interjected unexpectedly.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I hope I’ve grown up enjoying life as much as Ol’ Max does. Dogs have no pretensions.”
I ended my thoughts there and sat back, waiting for a response. Seconds seemed like an eternity before it came.
“Is that all, Dad?”
“Well, no ...” I hesitated in reflection. “Just to keep everything in perspective, there will always be those days when your biggest dream is still just to drive the ice cream truck.”
