I’m pretty sure I was an odd child. No one ever told me this, but if they knew of my imaginary play they’d likely agree. I was the youngest of 4. My brothers were much older so while I was playing Barbies, they were cruising the drag picking up chicks, well attempting to anyway, and making the police earn their money. My sister was just a tad bit older, almost 2 years, but still old enough to not want to be bothered with a younger sister. I spent most of my time playing alone, using my imagination.
I dreamed of being a ballerina or an ice skater. I would don a black and white checked taffeta skirt and practice twirls, leaps, and one footed reverse triple axels in the living room.
I longed to be a teacher. My parents gave me full reign of the garage where I created a make believe classroom. I built a podium, drew out a map of the United States and rolled it up with a string to pull down during Social Studies. Tired of using a sock for an eraser, I stealthily carried a real one out of my second grade classroom. I taught my stuffed animals the 3 R’s to the tune of a dowel rod and never grew weary.
I tried my hand at song writing and wrote a song called “Black Thunder”. It was Christmas season and my parents were out for the evening. My sister and I hadn’t plugged in the Christmas lights on the outside of the house. When they returned it was dark and they questioned why the lights weren’t on. I showed them my song I wrote and they were so impressed they thought I’d plagiarized it. In order to convince them that I really was a dadgum song writer (name that movie), my dad told me to go write another one. He gave me the title, “it just ain’t Christmas if the lights ain’t on”. It turned out to be slow and sappy and not near as good as my rock anthem “Black Thunder”. That was the end of my song writing days.
There were times I set up a chair and desk perpendicular to my bedroom window and pretended I was a bank teller working the drive thru. I sat at a desk at my Grandmother’s and pretended I designed cosmetics after watching The Bold and The Beautiful one day. I’ve wanted to be a psychologist, I’ve wanted to be a journalist. I was silly enough to want to be a waitress and even a maid. I now realize I liked the aprons.
I’ve had many dream jobs in my life. There is still much I wish I was better at. One of my husband’s professors once said, “find something you love, and then figure out a way to make money doing it.” But there is also something else I know: once a hobby or interest becomes a job, the fun sometimes goes away and is replaced by responsibility and drudgery.
Right now in my life, having no job is pretty much a dream. I’m glad to stay home with my baby and give her the time and experiences that help her grow. But if someone wants to pay me to blog, that’d be alright too.
This entry is #7 on a list of 30 things. What is your dream job?