My 5-year-old son has already become a future workaholic. Most kids get an idea about what they want to be when they grow up fairly early on. But most children have just one job in mind. Not Kameron. He already has four jobs picked out for himself. This is the same kid that I can’t seem to ever get to perform anything resembling work.
One day Kameron announced his future occupations in a voice befitting an announcer describing the final play in the Super Bowl. Kameron’s careers cover quite a spectrum of the American economy. He plans on contributing to the ranks of small business owners.
He is going to own an ice cream parlor that will apparently make only flavors that are liked by family members. So much for market research. In honor of dear old dad, he will make mint-raspberry twist.
My two favorite flavors. Kameron apparently understands capitalism fairly well because his employees apparently will include me and his 3-year-old brother Joshua. Is that capitalism? I think I meant slave labor.
To allow patrons to frequent his ice cream place, Kameron is going to build a bridge to make it accessible to the rest of us mere mortals. Is this place going to be on an island? A bridge builder, huh? Well that will require an engineering degree. I can already see the tuition numbers adding up.
Our future renaissance man is not satisfied with gastronomical and architectural pursuits. Kameron also plans a career as a professional hockey player for the Philadelphia Flyers. Apparently, he will hold out if he is drafted by another team.
Oh, and never mind that he can‚t skate. Nor has he shown a speck of athletic talent in his young life. Isn‚t hockey the most expensive youth sport? Add that onto the tuition. Great.
But just to prove that he has a more altruistic side, Kameron also plans a career as an educator. Not quite the schools that you might be envisioning. He will be teaching imaginary yellow bears he invented that he calls “beedies.” Apparently, he is going to teach these talking bears about being a workaholic.
After listening to Kameron spout his plans for several minutes without taking a breath, I inquired about some of the problematic intersections. “What if you have a meeting with a client about building a bridge at the same time you have a hockey game scheduled?” I asked. Kameron stared at me incredulously as if he was trying to explain rocket science to an idiot. “Dad,” he said. “It’s very simple. After the game, I would meet with my client, go to school, and then make ice cream.” Ah yes. Each fulltime job will wait for the others. But then I remembered that Josh and I were going to be the ones slinging the ice cream. I started to admire his diabolical tendencies. This was starting to sound like the fence painting scene in Tom Sawyer. I know what Kameron wants to be when he grows up, in charge. I guess he’s well on his way.
Keith Forrest is an assistant professor of communication at Atlantic Cape Community College. His late mother Libby Demp Forrest Moore wrote the Joyride column for this newspaper for 20 years.
