Reprehensible Refrains

If I ruled the world, I would ban certain expressions. "Because I said so" never convinced any kid to do anything, and never actually ends the discussion. "But WHY?" always follows, so you might as well start with a better answer.

"If so-and-so told you to jump off a bridge, would you jump?" should not be applied to situations that are not analogous. You wouldn't dive off the Golden Gate on your boss's orders, but I bet you'd make extra copies if she said so.

"Life's not fair." This was definitely a favorite of my parents, as I always let them know immediately if my brother had gotten a bigger cookie, was sitting in the window seat after I'd called it, or was slacking off on dishwashing duty. I knew life wasn't fair, and their response only intensified my desire for these greivous wrongs to be righted.

"I'll tell you when you're older." No, you won't! By the time the kid is old enough to hear the secret, you'll have long forgotten what it was. I'm still waiting for older cousins, babysitters, and a few of my teachers to confess all that delicious gossip they once promised me.

For all of you out there who are thinking, "Just wait til you have kids," don't. I've done my share of child care and teaching, and no matter the temptation, I've never used a single one of these. I have two solutions, so babysitters and parents everywhere, listen up.

First, your face won't freeze when you scrunch it up. Nor will you damage your tongue if you stick it out and try to touch your nose. Can you cross your eyes? Sit in the lotus position? Stupid human tricks are always good distractions, and the kids will probably forget what they were arguing about in their eagerness to imitate you.

Second, lie a little. "You can't climb to the top of the slide because the wicked witch of the playground might grab you! She only likes little boys in blue shirts. Look, she's coming. Runnnnn!" Or, "Mike's piece of cake is bigger, but yours has more icing. You'd better eat it before he sees!" Honesty is not always the best policy. Remember when I said I'd never used any of those expressions? I did. But I won't, ever again. And you shouldn't either... because I said so.

When I Grow Up

When I was a kid, I pictured the working world as a land populated by tall adults power-walking through city streets, drinking from tall to-go cups of Starbucks. I never quite pictured their day after the morning commute, probably because I never gave much thought to office-based careers.

At age five, I wanted to grow up to be a plumber. Richard, our jolly, bearded savior, would arrive at our house immediately following any disaster involving pipes, sinks, bathrooms, and parental distress. He would rub his hands together, harrumph briefly, and then kneel before the imposing metal structures. My parents would usher me away, and when Richard re-emerged, the pipes/sink/bathroom would be working just fine again. Amazing!

Two years later, I was a vociferous Boxcar Children reader and had long abandoned my plumbing plans. Any sedentary activity provided an opportunity for my ostentatious literary pursuits. I proudly toted my oh-so-impressive chapter books to school, the doctor's office, restaurants, and explained to enquiring adults that I would be a librarian when I grew up so that I could read all day.

Instead, I ended up in a gray cubicle, chomping dark blue Extra gum and blogging most of the day. I fill out expense reports, charge projects to the correct funds, and fax and file with the best of 'em. I also google-search law schools and public policy programs, interrogate friends who work on the Hill, and dream about publishing my short stories.

In seventh grade, I aspired to be a writer, but by ninth gradeI began to question the appeal of such solitary pursuits. My high school years, a blur of gymnastics practices, awkward dances, and frantic lunchtime reading of Sparknotes, yielded no new insights on the future beyond the immediate goal of college.

College, though, ushered in a plethora of potential futures , and my ever-increasing caffeine consumption ensured many sleepless nights to ponder these possibilities. A freshman year course on media and politics re-sparked my journalistic interest, only to be overshadowed by a class on the public health crisis and a new dream to live in turquoise scrubs and spread joy through hospitals. A few nights later, as I lay awake staring at the ceiling, the thought occured to me that life as a nurse might be difficult, given my debilitating fear of blood. Cross another career off the list.

I rallied, though, when I met Professor Hayden. As he stood behind the podium, regaling my Psych 33 class with tales of patients he'd helped, I began to see myself as a caring, thoughtful therapist. A five-year-old boy so obsessed with washing his hands that he could not play with other children, a woman convinced she was Cleopatra, a bipolar man who refused to take his pills - Hayden lead all of these patients, through behavioral training, introspection, and medication, to lead productive and healthy lives. He saw potential where others saw crazy; he saw options where others saw hopeless. I pored over my Abnormal Psychology textbook, and analyzed my friends' compulsions and coping mechanisms. Another sleepless night, I decided I was more interested in politics than listening to people's problems, and switched my major, and new life goals, to political science.

Today, office life is nothing like I ever imagined. Last week, we had the Great Cookie Exchange, a potluck of delectible high-carb concoctions. Today, I came in at 10 and then spent half an hour discussing Bebe's return policy with my friend Danielle. Tomorrow, I will probably read the Onion and take a two hour lunch break. Your first job is a learning experience, people tell me. They're wrong. All I'm learning is to look busy when I'm really researching local Happy Hour specials, to entertain myself for hours with Hookedonfacts.com, and to go MIA when stressed coworkers are overheard saying anything suspiciously close to "fax" or "copy." Is this what I meant to do with life? Not even close.

This Christmas, though, I had an epiphany. My mom gave me a thick text entitled "1001 Books to Read Before You Die," and I started checking off those I had already completed. These works were few and far between, and for a moment I felt guilty. I skipped most of the assigned reading in high school, took no literature-intensive classes in college, and I have a tendency to read and re-read the third Harry Potter in my free time. As I considered all of the thick, grown-up books I have ahead of me, though, I suddenly felt better. I don't want to be finished all the books I intend to read - I'm only 22!

Similary, my job is not exciting, not challenging, and my maturity probably regresses each hour I pass in this cubicle. I'd be more worried, though, if I had already answered the question, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" Since I don't know, I must not be a real adult yet. This means that possibilities are still open, that the best is yet to come, and that I'll probably be reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban under my desk tomorrow.