When I grow up, I want to be.......

Think back to when you where a child, even a teenager. Do you remember what you wanted to be/do when you grew up??

I am not talking about the silly things you wanted to do and changed your mind by the end of the day when you saw something better. I mean your first real ambition, that first dream, when you felt you could be anything and it was all still possible.

When I was little I remember how when most little girls played tea part with there stuffed toys, I had mine lines up ready to go to court. Trials and tales of trickery and misdeeds that only I could solve.I was the worlds best lawyer/detective, the Perry Mason of my world. To be honest I don't think I ever truly wanted to study law but I think it was where my true dream revealed itself. I could spin a good tale. I had imagination and by the time I was nine years old I had my heart set on being a writer.

My mind and heart never wavered from that ambition. While in most classes I made little or no effort, in English I excelled. Although grammer was (still is) the thorn in my side. I read and read and read. I would delve into books from all genres, authors and time periods. How would one know what type of writer one hoped to be or what clicked with you if you did not have a good background into all the different types of books out there. My friends would be reading Sweet Valley High and I would too but along with Mark Twain, Dickens etc.

Then when I was in my teens I had the fortune or misfortune depending on how you look at it on meeting a young man who shared my passion. We swapped books and discussed our likes and dislikes, shared our poetry and short stories. Till this moment in time I always thought I had talent, our styles where poles a part but I had my own special spark. It was stamped out.

Sadly being constantly that your friend is brilliant and not so much as a word about you can get very discouraging. This although at times hard to bare I could deal with. It was when my own family told me that my work was sort of good (sort of, hurt more than if they just told me that it stunk) but your not as good as......now he has talent.....

My heart broke. My pen fell to the floor never to be picked up again.

I have tried, the blank page just stares at me and any ideas that do pop in my head I squelch as not being any good. I still feel after all these years that the pen doesn't belong in my hand and I am too scared to find out if it is true.

Perhaps the memory of a dream lost is better than actually finding out it was never going to come true anyway.

When I grow up, I want to be........

Well I am only 30. I still have time to find out.