“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
(Go ahead, take a deep dive into the memories resurrected by hearing that question again. Tell us about them in a comment.)
In my earliest recollections, my father was a firefighter, a popular career choice for young boys, but I don’t remember considering following in his boot steps. What I do remember occurred Tuesday, Feb. 20, 1962.
At 8:47 a.m. in the first-grade classroom of Mrs. Aryless Follis, a hushed group of 6- and 7-year-olds listened to a radio report broadcast over the PA system from the principal’s office. At that time, astronaut John Glenn rode his Mercury spaceship Friendship 7 into space. His almost five-hour ride circled Earth three times, the first American to do so.
Even more exciting was the splashdown at 1:43 p.m. our time. By then, I believe, I had decided to become an astronaut.
Of course, we all know how well such plans of a first-grader play out.
Little League probably gave me thoughts of playing professional baseball, but my limited success on the field appropriately rained on that vision. I had a comfortable relationship with math and did reasonably well in the sciences, so something in those areas seemed likely. Exactly what, I never had any idea.
My mother pitched civil engineering to me, but it failed to build any interest. My father took me on a day trip to the Red River valley, where he grew up, to meet a botanist friend – or friend of a friend – who visited with us and showed me some research that involved grafting trees.
And, undoubtedly, there were many other short-lived prospects I no longer recall.
Have you noticed what’s missing here?
Yes, writing. I never, ever, had any thought about making a career as a journalist, as a writer or editor.
Never.
And that’s in spite of the fact I worked two years on my high school newspaper. Still, not even an inquiring thought about working as a writer.
I started college as a math major. About two weeks into the semester, I pretty much tripped over a Friday night job and came to my senses the next morning with a new career field, beginning as a sportswriter for a daily newspaper.
And THAT, my friends is the point to these 861 words: I don’t know what’s happening next, but I keep looking.
Even on this blog, I’ve recently struggled to find a purpose or, more exactly, a method to fulfill a purpose. I’ve been fighting that internal battle the past few years. Then, not unlike tripping into my first news job, I came across a letter from 1998 that lit up my path with a million candlepower spotlight.
Jack Maguire was a noted Texas historian and author who also served 20 years as executive director of The University of Texas Ex-Students’ Association, and nine years as executive director of the University’s Institute of Texas Cultures in San Antonio. He also wrote or co-authored nine books, more the 750 magazine articles, and more the 4,000 columns.
My newspaper was one of his subscribers and, though I never met him, we communicated by letters and telephone enough that I was comfortable reaching out to him for advice during the early years of my newspaper column.
It was his response that I came across the other day:
“I agree with your goals for ‘A Texas Voice.’ You want to make readers think and remember. Certainly, you accomplish that. I particularly enjoyed your column on having cardboard boxes as a kid. And the one on dentistry. Both brought back vivid memories.
“The personal essay has become a highly marketable piece of writing today. … Those who can write such pieces have it made – and you certainly can. So why don’t you focus on this area? Let every column be a ‘slice of life’ (either past or present) … Whether it was only yesterday or many yesterdays ago, your aim is to inveigle the reader by talking about a common event that will make him say: ‘You made me think’ or ‘remember’ or both.”
Thank you, dear reader, for your indulgence in allowing me to share these flattering words that mean a lot to me. If you’ve not figured it out yet (or, perfectly understandable, you don’t completely trust what you think I’m about to say), I am refocusing here on dancing with the one who brung me, with a tip of the hat to Darrell Royal.
Tomorrow’s post will update y’all with some significant changes in our lives. Hope you can sleep well tonight worrying about what it might be.
One caveat
OK, many of you are thinking, “Does this mean an end to your political postings?”
Yes … and no.
My intent is to not focus on politics, to not make it the lead topic of the post. I’ve grudgingly come to the awareness that anyone who still believes in and supports Donald Trump is blinded beyond my ability to help them understand. However, I may close out my columns with a short entry like this one, using it to relate something I feel worth sharing, political or otherwise.
Steve Martaindale 