When I Grow Up…

The topic for Ten On Tuesday this week was Ten Occupations You Wanted To Be When You Grew Up.

1.) Magazine Publisher
2.) Artist
3.) Speech Writer
4.) Poet
5.) Lecturer
6.) Reporter
7.) Singer
8.) Actress
9.) Helicopter Pilot
10.) Defense Attorney

As I look over my list memories of why I picked certain ones pop up.

Magazine Publisher.   That dream started on a winter’s night back in the late seventies.  I needed to make some photocopies of something right away, and it was late.  Where to go?  Yes, that little hole in the wall on 96th might still be open.  As I walked up the dark street I saw bright light coming through the glass door – yes!  I handed my papers to the creepy guy behind the counter and asked for a copy of each.

“Read this while you wait.”

I looked down and found a young woman with a huge smile sitting on the floor stapling pages together. A half dozen stacks of paper surrounded her. Her ink stained fingers held a neatly folded set of copies.

“It’s my magazine.”

“Uhhhh, thanks.”

“Okay,” I thought, “a few copies stapled together is your magazine.” And then I began to read it. It was articles about life in New York, and interviews with really cool artists. My finished copies sat on the counter, snow began to fall outside and I kept readingThe Jill Moscow Newsletter.

“Like it, huh?”

“Love it”

“Keep it.”

Jill sent her newsletters out to about four hundred subscribers, who all paid a small subscription fee. She was the most enterprising woman in the world., and I wanted to be her.

Speech Writer/Lecturer. Back in seventh grade our science class project was to create a presentation to be delivered before the whole class. I chose butterflies. For two weeks butterflies filled my every waking moment. I got a set of slides from somewhere, arranged for a projector and screen, typed everything up and had enough photocopied for every kid in class.

What was supposed to be about a 15 minute presentation took up an entire class period. The teacher and kids practically gave me a standing ovation; I don’t think I walked home that day; I flitted.

Poet. As soon as I could string a few words together I began writing little poems on lined sheets of looseleaf. I would read them outloud to my Italian grandmother who thought them the cleverest verse ever.

My grandmother’s a great cook,

She never ever needs a book.

This short short poem written when I was very young was her favorite. I think she repeated it to everone she ever knew.

I remember her gathering up my looseleaf sheets into little booklets tied together with red yarn. The bows were so neatly done.
Defense Attorney A desire to help the underdog, and dozens of episodes of Perry Mason on late night TV.

Enough for now. I shall return.

What did you want to be when you grew up?