“What do you want to be when you grow up?” For me, the
answer to that question is fluid. It has changed many times.
At age 7, “entomologist” was my answer. In those days I spent most of my Saturday afternoons in the company of my best friend across the street, and his Dad. Mr. Ferguson was a noted entomologist. The three of us collected insects in an open field, moving them quickly from net, to collection jar, and into air spiked with a fatal cyanide high. Old balsa cigar boxes stacked one atop the other, filled the shelf space above my bedroom closet. Rows of insects marched forward in neat lines inside those boxes, forever frozen in time, skewered by mounting pins. Vlad would have been proud.
But that career field never materialized once I decided that what I really wanted was to be a very large black lady singing backup for Leon Russell. Leon often had those great, gospel raised boom boxes backing him up in his keyboard and vocal frenzies.
At age 7, “entomologist” was my answer. In those days I spent most of my Saturday afternoons in the company of my best friend across the street, and his Dad. Mr. Ferguson was a noted entomologist. The three of us collected insects in an open field, moving them quickly from net, to collection jar, and into air spiked with a fatal cyanide high. Old balsa cigar boxes stacked one atop the other, filled the shelf space above my bedroom closet. Rows of insects marched forward in neat lines inside those boxes, forever frozen in time, skewered by mounting pins. Vlad would have been proud.
But that career field never materialized once I decided that what I really wanted was to be a very large black lady singing backup for Leon Russell. Leon often had those great, gospel raised boom boxes backing him up in his keyboard and vocal frenzies.
OK, I thought, it’s decided then. I’m going to be one of at least four backup singers for Leon.
Then I changed my mind again. Just as well, I suppose, since Leon is
singing in another dimension somewhere and I wasn’t born black, or
female.
More recently I decided that I want to be either Bobby Flay or Cormac McCarthy. Bobby creates masterpieces in the kitchen, Cormac does the same with the written word.
Maybe I can be someone who writes like Cormac, cooks like Bobby, and sings like Aretha?
Am I asking too much, getting pushy?
Well, I’m allowed to dream, right?
Don't worry, I know that dreaming doesn’t make it so. I learned that bitter lesson years ago with dreams of Ali MacGraw.
More recently I decided that I want to be either Bobby Flay or Cormac McCarthy. Bobby creates masterpieces in the kitchen, Cormac does the same with the written word.
Maybe I can be someone who writes like Cormac, cooks like Bobby, and sings like Aretha?
Am I asking too much, getting pushy?
Well, I’m allowed to dream, right?
Don't worry, I know that dreaming doesn’t make it so. I learned that bitter lesson years ago with dreams of Ali MacGraw.
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