Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Josh

I forgot that I used to want to be an improv comic until I heard someone talking about the classes they were taking. It reminded me I wanted to be a priest when I was in kindergarten, and then a movie critic. I was going to move to Alaska and be an astronomer, where there wasn't anything to obscure your view of the stars, and I was sure I wouldn't mind the cold. There were a lot of things I wanted to be and not a lot of things I was, by the time I graduated high school my future was a blank, the hanging syllable before a stutter, and I've remained thoroughly blocked. No matter how dissatisfied I am, and I am all underachieving day, I can't articulate what to do about it.

From my desk I can see a tree, where two birds built a nest of straw and one long bit of shoelace. They hatched three chicks there, pink and wormy with tiny beaks and linty black feathers. All day long the birds feed their chicks whose spring loaded heads stretch skyward ambitiously, and after only a week they're noticeably bigger and stronger, venturing onto wobbly, optimistic legs. It's something to watch all day.

I know a little boy that wants to be a pirate, and I hope he gets to be.

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