I don't remember how old we were exactly. Perhaps I was three and my brother was one? Maybe younger?
I don't even remember incident, it was so long ago. When I saw the photograph, however, I had to cringe. And laugh.
I'm not sure when it first hit me. The desire to become an entrepreneur, I mean. All I know is, it has something to do with a pom-pom ball, some felt, and a pair of rolly eyeballs.
I blame it all on my Dad.
"I look forward to growing old."
"Are you insane?" Lisa gasped. She regarded me like a little puppy that just ate his own poop.
Dear Adults,
Hi. I am a little boy living in a small town in America. One day, I will grow up and be an adult just like you.
I am writing to ask you something very important to me. Please don't kill our planet.
It was sometime around my freshman year of college when I got the call. I still remember it to this day.
Cute as a button and small as a purse, Ginger was a scampering, yipping puff of hair. She was a tiny black Pomeranian, which is classified as a toy dog breed because they're small like children's toys.
Our cousins gave her to us, back when she could fit in a mug. They called her Cookie, because she loved cookies. My Mom carried her home in her purse.
I'm sitting in a Barnes & Noble right now. As usual. Next to me are a father and son, sitting at a table and reading quietly.
The boy looks young; maybe first or second grade? The father looks pretty young too; maybe only a few years older than me.
Then the thought struck me: I totally want to be a father who brings his kid to Barnes & Noble too.
I had my own universe once. A universe where all of my toys existed together and battled one another. Autobots and G.I. Joe troops defended against Decepticons, Cobra, Battle Beasts, M.U.S.C.L.E.s, and Darth Vader & the Empire's troops.
Unfortunately, I didn't have a lot of Japanese toys; otherwise I would've mixed Robotech and Gundam in there too. I did have Voltron though. Go Voltron!
(Warning: High Geek Content Ahead.)
(As if you didn't already guess that.)
"You're such an instigator," my Dad told me.
"Instigator?" I wondered. "What does that word mean?" I had no idea. I was in pre-SAT grade school at the time. So I looked it up in a dictionary.
It's funny to look back at all the dumb things you've done and wonder how you got through it all, isn't it?
Like that time you climbed onto the roof of your house and told your cousins you could fly. Or that time you climbed onto the roof of your school because you were messing around with a substitute teacher. Boy, you sure like to climb onto roofs, don't you?
Or maybe that's just me.
You can blame all this on my grade school English teacher. If it wasn't for that creative writing exercise, I would have never started down this path.
"Write about emotions," she instructed. "Select an emotion and write about it. You can write about how it makes you feel, what you do when feeling it, anything you want."
I wrote a dark humorish piece called "Jealousy". We had to read our stories out loud in front of the entire class. Scary as hell, you can imagine.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA