What I want to be when I grow up

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was asked the Question: What do you want to be when you grow up?

This is his story.

The beginning
I can distinctly remember living on base (my dad was in the Air Force) and every day passing a building that was under construction on the way to daycare. I was four. I remember looking at that building and thinking that I wanted to make buildings when I got older. In fact, I wanted to construct THAT building.

Afterwards, and for many years, when someone would ask the Question, I’d answer “an architect”.

I’m not sure what ever happened to that dream, but I think when they finished that building I was a little sad. Every time we’d pass what became a liquor store it would mock me with its “I’m already built”-ness. Damn liquor store! Years later, I let the dream of being an architect die.

Later in life I began to draw and win awards for drawing (when I say “later” I mean five). I loved to draw and knew that if I entered a contest in school, I’d win. (I know that sounds egotistical, but it’s true…and was for many years.) I could lose myself for HOURS drawing and be as happy as could be. It was something that I was passionate about even at a young age.

When I finally gave up “an architect” as my answer to the Question, I started saying “an artist” instead.

I held on to that dream longer, but it became affected by the outside world. Everyone told me that if you wanted to be an artist you would starve. Instead, they would say, you should be a GRAPHIC artist; they make money. So I decided when I went to college that I would become a GRAPHIC artist.

Maybe in years prior it was true that graphic artists made the big money (though I doubt it), but I was in high school when the FIRST version of Adobe Photoshop came out. Not long after that EVERYONE was a graphic artist. By the time I was really rocking and rolling, the market was flooded with every wanna-be who had a pirated version of the software. I hung around that dream for a while and even did freelance for many years, but after 9/11 that industry was hit fairly hard.

In the end, the dream of being an artist first got mutated and then it died a sad, mutant-y death.

Being poor…AND broke
Being a graphic artist in a sea of charlatans with pirated software didn’t really bring in the big bucks. To put it bluntly, I was dirt ass poor! How poor? Well, as I’ve said before (though no one seems to believe me) I’m 6’5″…and at that time I was only 165 pounds.

That is too damn thin!

I always tried to blame it on metabolism or genetics or whatever, but the truth is that when you don’t have money for food, you don’t eat. And when you don’t eat, you don’t gain weight! I took a job delivering pizza for a few years; at least then I had dinner built into my job.

But “a pizza delivery guy” was never one of my answers to the Question.

I was broke. And I don’t mean regarding money, I felt like something was actually broken inside. I’ve kept tons of journals in my life (why “writer” was never an answer before escapes me) and when I look back at what I wrote then, I was just a mess. I had become jaded and disillusioned. I had let go of all of those dreams I had when I was younger (and yes, there were way more than just the ones listed).

Everything that I wanted to be was not who I was. I no longer had an answer to the Question.

Poor. Broke. Broken.

My answer
A few years went by and life changed. Being 60 pounds underweight was an option when I was single (albeit a poor one) but things had to change when there was someone I was sharing my life with…and then when there were a bunch of smaller someones I was sharing my life with.

I am thankful to not be dirt ass poor anymore, but I still feel broken. Something is not right about the way we are told to live our lives.

I want to rescue my family from this life where we are apart all day only to see each other a few hours at night…when we’re all exhausted. I want to rescue them from the constant stream of bills that we seem to stay barely ahead of. I want to rescue my children from the things that will kill THEIR answers to the Question.

I want to rescue my family from this mess. This mess where every single paycheck is immediately eaten up by bills. Where every time we think we are a step ahead, something else happens to bring us back down. Where every blessing seems to get choked with weeds that seek to steal our dreams!

I hate it! I hate how wretched it is to feel trapped. My blood pressure is getting way too high. I carry around a prescription for migraines! And my hair is starting to thin out from the stress. Yes. Really!

And I really, really, super-duper, want-to-scream-obscenities-at-the-top-of-my-lungs, MUTHER-EFFING HATE THAT I DON’T KNOW IF WHAT I’M DOING WILL EVER SET US FREE!!!!!

If this was a movie, I’d be up and throwing a chair through the wall as I said that last line while screaming and crying those really hot, angry tears…and you can bet that I’d get an Oscar for that shit! (If you didn’t read it that way, go back and read it while picturing me starting off calmly and then getting louder until I end up throwing a chair through the wall and knocking over an expensive lamp!) I can’t even begin to convey how deep and how dark that fear is in me or how much it makes me want to go absolutely crazy. The really primal part of me wants to tear things up and yell and rage because of how much I hate that fear!!!

My passion for my family and my loathing of the template life are what have created my ultimate answer to the Question.

Now, when I look at my wife and children, I know that my answer to the Question is “their hero”.

Happily ever after?
I don’t know how this story ends.

I’m sure some people will dismiss me by saying that I’m just stressed or having an early mid-life crisis. They should probably leave before I start throwing that chair for real.

The little boy inside of me still wants to build things and make art; the man inside of me wants to do this while being the hero.

I don’t know if what I’m doing is going to work. I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or smart or if it’s the worst possible combination of efforts that can be conceived. I don’t know if I’m banging my head against a rock or if I’m going the right direction.

I just don’t know any of that.

This is what I do know:

1. I dearly love my wife and children…which is a strong enough reason to not give up
2. I am trusting my God to help me
3. I promised from the beginning that I’d share my journey
4. I no longer care to look like I’ve got it figured out
5. If I lose my hair, I’m going to go effing postal

And that’s about as good as I can do to wrap this up today.