When I grow up
I had many dreams about what I would be when I grew up. A teacher, nurse, secretary, house wife, mother. Mainly I dreamed of being a writer. Oddly enough, I didn't really consider becoming a sign language interpreter.
I began my first day of work at the college this week. As usual, I was running later than I had wanted. I flew out the back door while my kitty looked on with confusion. "Where's my breakfast, mom?" I made a call to my husband on the way asking him to feed the children.
I knew I had a 20 minute drive which would have put me there on time, but I wanted to arrive early to find the deaf education office, pick up my badge and find my first class. I pulled into the school driveway only to be met by a long line of cars that snaked it's way into the parking lot. I wasn't prepared for this. But, God knew I needed a break and I quickly found a spot in the farthest galaxies while everyone else slowly putted around to find the closest spot.
Making my way up the geese poop scattered walkway, I noticed a grand similarity to my high school. Students looked as if they had just rolled out of bed, forced to pursue an education they no longer cared to attain. They threw on their only clean clothes - camouflaged pants, wife beater and flip flops. Girls put a little more thought into their appearance wearing their shortest, tightest ripped jean skirt, shirts that boasted such sayings as, "Don't feed the models" or "Made you look" splayed aross large chests in sparkley rhinestones. They looked bored, confused and lost.
As I held my breath behind a whirl of cigarette smoke and the faint odor of pot in the distance, I had to empathize with them slightly. I too feel a little confused and lost. What do I want to be when I grow up? Do I really know?
During my first class the thought crosses my mind, "What am I doing? I could get my masters in English and then be an English professor. I mean, how hard can it be?" I looked out over the faces of the few that had decided to make it to class this first day of school. They didn't look intimidating at all. I could do this! I could be an English professor!
By the second day, I will have realized as I clumsily walk in front of a rather large class, fascinated by my Sign Language Interpreter badge and the screeching chair I pull awkwardly across the floor, that there is no way I could stand in front of a room full of gaping know-it-alls, full of themselves and ready to criticize. I abort mission on my plans to enroll in a NY university next fall.
The realization is, those who know what they want to be when they grow up are quite the lucky ones. They are rare. Or should I say, those who know what they want to do and do it are quite rare? I think that is more accurate.
I began my first day of work at the college this week. As usual, I was running later than I had wanted. I flew out the back door while my kitty looked on with confusion. "Where's my breakfast, mom?" I made a call to my husband on the way asking him to feed the children.
I knew I had a 20 minute drive which would have put me there on time, but I wanted to arrive early to find the deaf education office, pick up my badge and find my first class. I pulled into the school driveway only to be met by a long line of cars that snaked it's way into the parking lot. I wasn't prepared for this. But, God knew I needed a break and I quickly found a spot in the farthest galaxies while everyone else slowly putted around to find the closest spot.
Making my way up the geese poop scattered walkway, I noticed a grand similarity to my high school. Students looked as if they had just rolled out of bed, forced to pursue an education they no longer cared to attain. They threw on their only clean clothes - camouflaged pants, wife beater and flip flops. Girls put a little more thought into their appearance wearing their shortest, tightest ripped jean skirt, shirts that boasted such sayings as, "Don't feed the models" or "Made you look" splayed aross large chests in sparkley rhinestones. They looked bored, confused and lost.
As I held my breath behind a whirl of cigarette smoke and the faint odor of pot in the distance, I had to empathize with them slightly. I too feel a little confused and lost. What do I want to be when I grow up? Do I really know?
During my first class the thought crosses my mind, "What am I doing? I could get my masters in English and then be an English professor. I mean, how hard can it be?" I looked out over the faces of the few that had decided to make it to class this first day of school. They didn't look intimidating at all. I could do this! I could be an English professor!
By the second day, I will have realized as I clumsily walk in front of a rather large class, fascinated by my Sign Language Interpreter badge and the screeching chair I pull awkwardly across the floor, that there is no way I could stand in front of a room full of gaping know-it-alls, full of themselves and ready to criticize. I abort mission on my plans to enroll in a NY university next fall.
The realization is, those who know what they want to be when they grow up are quite the lucky ones. They are rare. Or should I say, those who know what they want to do and do it are quite rare? I think that is more accurate.
posted by Samantha | 6:26 PM
1 Comments:
I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up but I went down another path... and I hate it!! :)
You asked about soy on my blog... I don't have a clue. I didn't do a lot of research on food and infertility, I just try to eat better most days.
Take care and good luck finding your perfect fit of a job.
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