To Dream Like A Child
Lately, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on my kids’ childhood. It feels like I somehow lost six years of their lives because time went so fast. I know the years happened because I have pictures, but nothing could prepare me for that feeling.
Last night, Braeden and Hadley discussed their college majors, and it made me think of their childhood dreams.
Braeden wanted to be a martial artist, a salesman, and a cop. He wanted to be tall like his PopPop and robust like his Daddy. He planned to make as much money as Tiger Woods and relax with a table full of Pokemon cards.
Hadley wanted to be a ballerina, a girl cop, a Mommy, and make a mean potato salad. Oh wait, the potato salad thing is my wish. She wanted to drive a sports car and a motorcycle, but always with a helmet on her head. She insisted on having a laptop computer, just like mine.
Their dreams make my childhood wishes look pretty warped.
When I was around three years old, I wanted to grow up to be Chinese. I blame my parents for this misconception about my limitations because they always said I could be anything I wanted to be in life. Unfortunately, they failed to explain some things about myself that I could never change, like my thunder thighs. That became a bitter realization somewhere around the college.
Back in the day, if I saw a Chinese person in public, I’d grab my mother’s arm and start screaming, “Look, Mommy, a Chinese, a Chinese!” My excitement level was somewhere around that of a person who had just won the sixteen million dollar lotto jackpot.
This action always mortified my mother. She never knew how to explain to the offended party that I was not racist but wanted to BE their race. In her opinion, it didn’t seem like a plausible explanation, and it made me sound a little nutty, which I was.
At four years old, I came to my senses and shelved my Chinese dream. I replaced that with a desire to marry a black man to have six black babies and six white babies.
Seeing how I barely managed to raise two children with my sanity intact, I’m glad the twelve-baby dream never materialized. But then again, Shemar Moore could change my mind (if you’re reading this, Babe – call me).
Like my parents, I nurtured my children’s dreams.
I didn’t tell Braeden that if he made Tiger’s money, I would live in a casita on his property for the rest of my life. Likewise, I refused to reveal to Hadley that if she thought she would get on a dangerous motorcycle, I was going with her… with my hair in rollers and fuzzy slippers on my feet. It wouldn’t seem so cool then, huh, Snookums?
So last night, Braeden talked about becoming a lawyer while Hadley is considering Forensic Psychology. It’s funny how maturity changes dreams.
I now know I’ll never be Chinese or have twelve children, but I have two kids who are my dream come true.
What were your dreams when you were a child?