I was asked for a senior seminar in college, to write what I wanted to be when I grew up... My school was apparently for morons: here's what I handed in.
Mother Earth Wears Stilettos
“What do you want to be when you grow up?” A thousand words. ---- Really? Well OK Teach, here goes…
Typically, when asked what one wants to “be” when they reach that definitive plateau - that loosely defined (but somehow) absolute state-of-being we call, “grown up,” the desired response has something to do with a job title. This asserts very flatly, two funny quirks about our notions of “being” and “grown up”.
Linguistically, we are being asked a question requiring a great deal of depth and self-reflection to respond aptly too, namely: our philosophies, our spirituality (or lack of), our methods and preferences of interpersonal relationship and our personal process of deduction and reasoning; the short list of the stuff that makes up the “self”. Practically, we ask where they’d like to spend their forty, paid (and taxed) hour’s per-week. Indirectly we take note of their potential monetary capability, the relative talents of the individual (which can be categorized, collated and focused for this desperately rational pursuit we call capitalism) and how those focused talents are balanced with a person’s sense of duty, morality and macroscopic goals. In short blunted conversation: lawyer, teacher, mechanic, crack-pot evangelist, father, mother or production designer are all sufficient answers to the question of “being” and “grown up.”
First, what’s humorous (to me at least) is what this tells us about Americans. This serves as hard proof for the Western identification between self and occupation (referred to here on out as “occupation almighty”) wherein what you do
is who you are. The power of this distinction can be seen in countless examples: powerfully so, in the military theater where occupation waives the moral standard against taking human life. Occupation almighty justifies itself even in the vain of murder. Similarly, other doctrines of belief that justify themselves are … any holy books and are used daily to justify atrocities, like murder or slavery. In fact early southern slave owners discovered that by paying wages and taxing them at roughly 40% for room, board and the like, they gained all the benefits of capital incentive in their slaves. Actually, I think the average American pays something like 40% tax; well I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned with.
Secondly, the association with occupation almighty and the pinnacle of being “grown up,” is an interesting association. This pinnacle, which must be reached by functioning members of society (lest we arrest them for vagrancy), will undoubtedly be reached, though we’re not quite sure what it means, we know it has something to do with occupation and that it happens somewhere in our mid-twenties. It seems that our right of passage into what is arguably the most important and final stage of being, is centered on our job. We’ll have to forget that it’s completely ridiculous to assume that we reach a pinnacle of understanding in which we are a static being and cease all mental growth thereafter. For arguments sake of course we’ll have to forget this, because that is precisely what the idiom “grown up” implies. I misspoke on the term final stage however; we do have retirement to look forward too.
So we’ve established that Americans assume that growing up is a stage to be reached, it has something to do with occupation, and you’re a big-wiener if you don’t.
But the roots of this nonsense are green. Our choice of occupation has to do with the necessity of money and how we will obtain it. We all need money to live, quite literally, as much as we need water. It’s is after-all, bottled these days. So it’s a necessity and a necessity for all of us; what the question really asks us is:
how do we plan to go about getting it and what compromises will we make in the process.
Occupation almighty is really the bastard child of the heavenly Father-Money, who’s been busy at the office while Mother Earth stuffs Her feet into heels and makes sure dinner is ready by six o’clock. The new dishwasher does make doing dishes easier and at only ten gallons a run – really a miracle. Though, She does wish that He still turned water into wine, it’s not so big a deal anymore - She’s got valium now. And yes, She knows He’s having an affair with Uranus, She keeps it quiet for the children – us.
We need money. There are a thousand ways to do this, and maybe I’m cocky to say I’m not too worried about it but, I’m not. It’s those other aching questions proposed by the question of my “grown up” doings that I’m really worried about.
So what would I like to be? Happy, content, approachable, kind, munificent, well-nourished and peaceful to name a few. What don’t I want to be? Grown up.
To complete this paper more practically however, I have ideas of being a teacher, a wanderer, a lover, a writer and a laborer in no particular order. I know I’m disgusted with the business of education, the cattle-like herding of young minds, the suppression of awe, the indoctrination of beauty and the standardization of the student. If I’d like to make an impact anywhere, it is most surely in education -- quickly, before they’ve ebbed our curiosity, controlled our sex-drives, sterilized our socializing and lobotomized our doubt. Something must be done and I’m just bitter enough to do it – damn it. Maybe I’ll rob banks and redistribute the wealth. What do you want to be when you grow up? Robin-hood. God damn right.
