Never Wanted to Be a Teacher

Everybody can probably list at least 8 or 9 different occupations that as kids, they swore they would be when they grew up. Having worked with kids for several years already, I've observed that the typical childhood dream-jobs haven't changed from when I was a kid, or when you were. In fact, it's the only thing left of our childhoods that we can compare to those of children in this generation. Their dreams are still just as limitless as always. It's inspiring - not just what kids feel they are capable of becoming, but that they can change their minds at the drop of a hat, without the worry and mental torment we put into such decisions now.

I have only met a handful of little girls who have not mentioned 'ballerina' at all on their long-term goals list, even if it was a fleeting aspiration. Something about spinning in circles for the rest of one's life is really appealing to a child, apparently. I did ballet for a few years as a kid. I never aspired to continue it into adulthood. To be honest, I never planned to continue it past the age of five. My best friend and I would spend more time hanging on the barre giggling than learning shuffle steps. I was not the most graceful bird in the flock, and even then I was aware of it. I remember my last recital. We were pink cowgirls with silver glittery hats, and we did a dance to Escape Club's 'Wild West.' I had that routine memorized. But what I could not get the hang of was keeping the hat on my head. So for the entire 2 ½ minute performance, 7 girls on stage are dancing to the beat they know best, but meanwhile, I was showing off my inability to multi-task. Holding my hat on my head while dancing with the rest of them was proving to be impossible, so I directed all my attention to my hat and by the end, was just standing there with my hand on my hat in a solid, motionless solute to the shining dancers in front of me. I've never been the best at keeping my priorities in order.

It was then and there that I knew I'd never make it as a professional ballerina.... and it was at some magical point in time between 'Mandy's in the backroom handing out valium' and Ronnie getting a new gun, I decided to be a pathologist.

I am not a parent, but I can image that not much makes them prouder than having a kindergartner who has already dedicated his life to become a brain surgeon, lawyer, or hell, even a marine biologist. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" is their favorite phrase in the world, as it gives them a chance to point out how intelligent and dedicated to helping others their sticky little snob already is.

I'd like to take this moment to apologize to my own parents for not allowing them that simple pleasure. Mom and Dad, I will always owe you for proudly responding to that question with 'I want to cut up dead people because then at least I can't kill 'em'

For a blonde runt of a girl who had a matching hair bow for every outfit, I had a morbid fascination with blood and guts. I gave my cats a run for their money when it came to living up to the phrase, 'look what the cat drug in.'

Birds. Mice. Asps. Other road killed critters. You name it, I examined it with a stick. I never suffered any negative psychological effects from this until one Saturday, I was hunched over a dead mouse in the front yard - trying to decipher its intestine from God only knows what else was in there - and examining it as thoroughly as possible without touching it, not even with a stick. Mom called my brother and me in to eat lunch. I specifically remember the sliced apples and peanut butter that day - up until then, my favorite - and realizing a disturbing resemblance of the peanut butter to something inside the mouse that I'd been squinting at five minutes earlier.

To this day, I cannot even look at peanut butter.

By the time I was a freshman in high school, my idea of the perfect career for me changed about two times a week. I remember the music therapist phase, the psychology phase, the week I even considered going into pre-med and trying my luck at living bodies, the veterinarian phase, the art therapist. Then there was the month in which I aspired to be Oprah. What solidified my decision was the year I suddenly had obligations before school started. Cheerleading practices at 6:30, band practices at 6:30, student council at 7:30.

Learning to be conscious and functional at those earlier hours exposed me to a realm of everyday existence that I'd never even acknowledged as reality - the morning news. To the typical 13 year old thought process, any hour that occurs before sun-up is reserved specifically for the unfortunate few that the world - or teachers - had a grudge on. It wasn't long before I noticed that my most intelligent and creative thoughts peaked before 9:00 a.m., as my mental fatigue set in prematurely around second period. I began to plan my career around the first few hours of the day...decidedly, the only time in which I would be worth any money at all. My choices were limited: Dancer at a 24 hour strip club, morning news anchor, or a paper route.

So after a few weeks, I decided that I could probably slut it up just enough to make some money. But the curves I was banking on to make me millions never came, and I set my sights on news broadcasting.