when I was a kid, my aspirations were simple. I wanted a dog. I wanted a house that had stairs in it—two floors for one family. I wanted, for some reason, a four-door station wagon instead of the two-door Buick that was my father’s pride and joy. I used to tell people that when I grew up, I was going to be a pediatrician. Why? Because I loved being around little kids and I quickly learned that it was a pleasing answer for adults to hear. Oh, a doctor! What a good choice! In those days, I wore pigtails and bossed my older brother around and managed, always and no matter what, to get As at school. I was ambitious, though I didn’t

know exactly what I was shooting for. Now I think it’s one of the most useless questions an adult can ask a child—What do you want to be when you grow up? As if growing up is finite. As if at some point you become something and that’s the end.

当我还是个孩子的时候，我的愿望很简单。我想要只狗。我想要一个有楼梯的房子，一个家庭住两层楼。不知为什么，我想要一辆四门旅行车，而不是我父亲引以为豪的双门别克。我曾经告诉人们，当我长大后，我要成为一名儿科医生。为什么？因为我喜欢和小孩子在一起，我很快就知道这是一个让成年人愉快的回答。哦，医生！多好的选择！在那些日子里，我梳着辫子，对我哥哥指手画脚，不管发生什么事，我总是设法做到像在学校一样。我雄心勃勃，但我没有完全知道我为什么要开枪。现在我认为这是一个成年人可以问孩子的最没用的问题之一，你长大后想做什么？好像成长是有限的。好像在某个时候你变成了某种东西，那就是结局