What do you want to be when you grow up?
I’ve been thinking about my career these days, and I started wondering, what was it that I wanted to be when I was little. Then it occurred to me, why is it that people like to ask little boys and girls what they want to be when they grow up? I inevitably do this to my niece and nephew even though it’s a absurd question. I’m 32 and I still don’t know what I really want to do for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure a ten year old (or even most 18 year olds) isn’t really going to know either. But people ask little kids anyway, and for the most part little boys always say the same thing. They either want to be a police officer, a firefighter, President or (the correct answer) they don’t know. I also find it funny that most kids want to grow up as fast as they can, and most adults will gladly do about anything to be kids again. I don’t want to be a kid again, but that’s a different story. Anyway, I remember my first answer to that “what do you want to be” question. I wanted to be a veterinarian. Growing up on a farm with approximately a thousand hogs, thirty chickens, ten cats, and a hand full of dogs, my father and our vet were well acquainted. I remember taking our sick dog “Lady” to her. A few days later, we would go back and Lady would be as good as new. A vet was, to the eyes of a child, a magician. Plus, and even to this day, I really like animals, and fixing them up when they’re broken was very appealing.
I am not a veterinarian, and I can clearly remember the incident that really affected me. I don’t remember how old I was, but what happened was that a really sick cat hid in my dad’s workshop. She was not only sick, but mean as hell. No one could get close to her. She would hiss, scratch at you, run away, and all the time foamed excessively at the mouth. A mean as hell foaming at the mouth sick cat … rabies anyone?
Someone trained in dealing with rabid animals showed up and caught the cat. To determine the cat’s problem (in the 1980’s anyway), the veterinarian had to kill the cat and dissect out its brain and perform tests. All I understood was that a veterinarian took our cat and killed it. This incident must have taken place before I discovered why my dad had so many hogs, because the murder of this cat devastated me, and my view of veterinarians at that time dramatically changed. Of course, now I understand completely, but as they say, this is now and that was then.
That’s not what scared this young kid from being a vet. It was what I was told would happen if the cat tested positive for rabies. As a precautionary measure, I would need to get immunization shots. I remember being told that rabies immunization required around 20 shots into the stomach area. HOLY SHIT!! 20 shots! I remember asking my mother if veterinarians have to get shots like that as well, in which she said something similar to “you can’t be a veterinarian without getting shots.” I hate shots, and I hated shots a lot more then. So, lets examine the logic of an child.
To be a Veterinarian = getting shots
Shots = Pain
Thus logically
To be a Veterinarian = Pain.
Even though there maybe some truth to that last statement, the logic was a bit off. Not that it mattered because I had that logic in my head, so I didn’t want to be a Veterinarian anymore. I don’t think I was ever told what was actually wrong with the cat, but I never got those shots.
Of course, as I grew up and become more educated, the negative connotations tied to veterinarians was lost completely. This occasion in my life probably did have some long term effects though because becoming a vet never appealed to me ever again. I imagine that being a vet would be one of the most rewarding occupations. Of course, a Vet’s job is also probably one of messiest (digestive tract problems for example) and having any domesticated patient die under my care would probably wreak havoc on my emotions. I guess you eventually get kind of numb to it, but do I want to get numb to it? Yep, even though the logic of a child was completely off, I think NOT becoming a Vet was probably the right choice for me.
Hey Matty,
I never knew you had once wanted to become a vet. During long bus rides home (remember those? about an hour or so I think), one of your classmates, Chris C. and I used to talk about becoming veterinarians and having a practice together. He was going to take care of cows, rabbits and dogs I think and I was going to take care of horses and cats. (I think his folks still have cows, but mine don’t have horses anymore.) You must have been riding to and from school with your brother by then or we would’ve dragged you in on our little plan, too!
Obviously, we’re not vets either. I guess technically you’re closer since you’re at least in a biological field. The closest I get to animals these days (except for Spot the Pirate Dog) is the weekly agriculture page here at the paper.
Anyway, just thought I’d share.
Hope you and April and Baby Bauer are all doing well and you have a fun time with your guests.
Melissa
P.S. Ryan has said almost every day for the past six months that he wants to be the president someday.
My little Alexander is still sure he’s going to be a pirate and a pastor when he grows up. Think the Missouri Synod has any missions to pirate ships available?