Last night, while watching previews for Night at the Museum II with my friend Kathryn, I recalled an early childhood ambition. When I was a little bit, I had my sights set on an unusual profession. I didn’t want to grow up to be a doctor or a veternarian or a teacher like the other kids I knew. See, at a very young age, I fell in love with dinosaurs. I drew them, played with them, and was basically enthralled with the concept of them. The Triceratops and T-Rex were of my favorite species – the Triceratops being an herbivore seems suiting now. Anyway, it was then I decided that when I grew up, I wanted to be an archaeologist. I am not an archaeologist. My dream didn’t come true.
In addition to my first dream job, I’d like to share my first crush. My first ever crush was not on Greg from The Brady Bunch nor either of the two Coreys. It was on Abraham Lincoln. That’s right, good ole’ Honest Abe. My parents took me to D.C. several times when I was younger and I saw Ford’s Theater and the home where Lincoln was taken to after he was shot. They had the blood-stained pillow under glass but on display. I was hooked. He was a hero with a huge hat. What a hottie!
Thinking back on these childhood perspectives, I think it should have been obvious from the get-go that my little mind doesn’t work like other “normal” people’s. What kid crushes on Honest Abe and fantasizes about digging up dinosaur bones in sweat-soaked khacki’s?