Mommy, I want to be a writer when I grow up.

I want to be a firemen, a policemen, a ballerina, a vet… When you are a child the choices are endless. For me, there was only one choice.

I hated books when I was a child, especially at Christmas. On Christmas Eve my brother and I would avoid any packages that would slightly resemble anything close to a book. All my parents got for giving us books were big disappointed frowns. At one point they stopped giving books. Now, when I ask why I didn’t get a book for Christmas, all I receive from my parents is a frown.

When I was about 7 I told my mom that I would be a writer one day – again the frown. She said that I could work on that but I won’t be able to make a living off it. She said to pursue another profession and I could still write while having a regular 8-5 job. I asked her, what type of job I would have to do to make a good living. She said accounting, maybe. I told her I will be an accountant then, it’ll give me enough time to work on my writing. That was 16 years ago.

Guess what I went to school for? Yes, you got it. Accounting. To be honest, I highly doubt that I’ll stay in that business, although it’s far more interesting than I would have ever imagined. When ever I talk to my mom and she asks me, what my plan for the future is, I still tell her the same thing…

‘Mom, I want to be a writer.’ The only difference is, now she nods and says, ‘Yes, I know… You have been telling me for years.’

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