When I was a kid I think I wanted to be a fireman.
A man who fights fire.
I also seem to recall wanting to be a dog handler.
But only handling dogs with long ears.
I’m pretty sure I went through a phase when my dream was being a stunt man.
Stand to the side please, Evel Knievel!
I can however, say for certain, that I never considered being a ‘celebrity.’ I don’t think they existed when I was a child. Certainly not the breed that is famous for being famous. It sounds a bit vacuous, a tad irrelevant, and a lot dull. Don’t get me wrong, as a father I just want my children to be happy, no matter what they decide to be when they grow up. I just can’t see how putting stars in their eyes or announcing they have some kind of X factor will ensure they develop into fulfilled and happy individuals.
Mind you… I’d have killed for free tickets to the premiere of Tron. There’s a blast from a rose-tinted past.
Following on from my post “Mayor of Foursquare” a number of weeks ago, in which I described a visit to the pub with my 3 year old son, the experience was completed this morning when he woke a tad too early, and making too much noise I had to take him downstairs before he did the same to his brother and sister. I kept softly telling him to “shh!”. He thought it would be fun to tell me to “shh!”.
Needless to say this quickly descended into the two of us giggling as we tiptoed down the stairs in the dark, pressing fingers to our mouths and telling each other to “shh!”
I had a very interesting conversation with my 5 year old daughter in the kitchen this morning as teacakes toasted under the grill.
“We’re going to play Disneyland Paris!” she announced. By this she meant she was going to parade around the dining room gleefully ‘meeping’ with her twin brother as they waved jazz hands above their heads. However I was soon to learn that things would be different this time.
“They don’t talk in Disneyland Paris, Daddy” she explained. By ‘they’ she meant the characters. She had remembered what I’d said during an advert we had watched together when I had recounted my experience of Mickey the Mute and Daffy the Dumb during a holiday to Florida many years before.
After a short pause she asked, “Why don’t they talk in Disneyland Paris, Daddy?”
I wanted to say “Because they’re just people wearing costumes, darling. They’re just pretending to be chipmunks, mice, ducks and dogs. They’d give themselves away and ruin the experience for park visitors, including children, if they talked!”
So I said “Because they’d have to carry televisions with speakers around with them everywhere they went so that you could hear them. That would just be silly, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes that would be silly, Daddy!” she grinned as she turned around and walked through to the dining room to happily join her brother in silent procession around the table as he ‘meeped’ in blissful ignorance.