What Do You Want To Do When You Grow Up?

Art Linkletter was a popular television host in the 1950s and 1960s.  He was especially known for his interviews of young children on a segment called, “Kids Say the Darndest Things”.   In this segment, he would ask questions in an attempt to get candid and unfiltered responses from children.   Frank and well-meaning answers were the draw of the program.  More often than not, the answers were quite hilarious.  They were even shocking.  But, quite often, their perspective was also profoundly true. 

Periodically, Mr. Linkletter would ask, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” It was a classic conversation starter designed to tap into the imagination of a young child.  It stirred hope, and it inspired creativity, and even fantasy. 

​I do not recall how many times I was asked, “What do you want to do when you grow up?  But!  There was definitely one time that I know my response.  

Even though my recollection may be a bit hazy, my Uncle John’s rendition of the event is crystal clear.  He has retold the story enough times to me that it is part of family lore.  When he asked me, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” I was an average four-year-old with little experience and a lot of imagination.  As my Uncle John tells it, there was nothing vague or imprecise about my answer.   And, it was strangely prophetic.

It was the late 1950s and my dad’s younger brother, John, was home on leave from the army.   My dad was number two and the oldest boy.  John was five years younger than my dad, and he was the third of four children.  I was born while my Uncle John was in the service.  The family was gathered to welcome my uncle.   And, I was to have my first interaction with him.     

Please note: Twelve months before this homecoming event, two impressionable events happened to stimulate my world.  They were to help prepare my young heart for this “life-defining moment”.

​The first event was a trip that I got to take with my dad.  We took a train to a nearby town.  It was just 15 miles away from my home town, but for me it was to another world.  My dad’s cousin, Pat, and her dad, Uncle Mack, were taking the train to California.   My dad decided to take me on my first train ride.  We were going to go with them to the next town, and then, take a return train back home.  Because Pat was moving to California, and because it was my “first train trip”, there was a grand sendoff.  We stood in front of the red brick train station waiting for the train.  Lots of pictures were taken. I was pumped up, thrilled, ecstatic, and very impressionable. 

At Great-Grandma Carr's House.

The second event was a road trip that our family took from Michigan to a tiny little town in southern Indiana.  We drove eight hours on winding two-lane roads to visit my Great-Grandma Carr.  Mom navigated and dad drove.  The green Oldsmobile sedan was old.  The floorboards were thin, and “road dust” would seep through.  But, none of this bothered me.  I wanted to take it all in: crossing the state line, the Wabash River, and following road signs.  It was all fascinating.   

​My grandparents grew up, and were married in this little town. I was connecting with my roots - but that sort of bypassed me.  I was much more intrigued by lightening bugs, and the mournful sounds of loons.  The sounds, mingled with the smells of the loamy soil, and the musty old home where Great-Grandma Carr lived, got deeply imprinted in my little mind.  I was fascinated that she slept in a recliner, and she had these big wooden racks to make quilts.  I didn’t know a thing about culture, but I did know that things were different.   I also knew one other thing.  I liked it.

---

Uncle John

As I prepared for the homecoming celebration for my Uncle John, these two experiences were hovering just below the subconscious recesses of my mind.  I was ready to meet my uncle.  In my mind, he was a hero.  I had heard of him and I had seen his picture on my grandparent’s china cabinet.  I was drawn to the uniform.  I was told that he was in an honor guard battalion, whatever that was.  He performed at parades, and such - like the inauguration.   He greeted visiting dignitaries, including the President, and even a queen.  He also did burials and ceremonies at Arlington National Cemetery, and official events at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Washington D.C.   But, none of this meant anything to me as a four-year-old.   What did fascinate me was his ability to spin his rifle and do lots of “tricks” with it.  He was exciting to watch.  There were lots of clicks and clacks, and I was mesmerized.

---

I can still conjure up a picture of the family crowded into Grandpa and Grandma Carr’s house for this family gathering.  There was a feeling of compressed chaos.  Eight adults and five kids were crammed into three interconnected rooms downstairs.  Conversations stopped and started.    Uncle John demonstrated his rifle handling skills.  Interruptions and hub-bub abounded.  And at some point, I settled down enough for Uncle John to pose the question that stirred up all the dreams, aspirations, and ambitions of my young life.   ​

With a saddle, and an imagination - who needs a horse.

​Within this atmosphere of ramped up excitement, mixed with exuberance of a “soldier coming home”, my pump was clearly primed.  Being a four-year-old of average intelligence, I blurted out the most reasonable response I could come up with.  It was the sum total of all that I could rationally project to be my life’s goal – my life’s ambition.  When asked, what I wanted to do when I grew up?   I boldly and unabashedly proclaimed - with an impish grin – “I want to travel.”  Period.  End of story.

---

As I reflect, I have to honestly say, I am not really sure where the answer to my uncle’s question came from.  I can only say that God has used this passion to go places and see things, to learn by doing, time and time again.  It’s been a seed that he has used to transition me to do new things for him.   This passion has been a motivating factor throughout my life.  It has also been part of the spiritual compass that God has used to keep me focused on him.  Little did I know that God would use this “passion to travel” as a periodic prompt in my walk with him.  Little did I know that travel and culture would play a dominate role in who I am and what I do today. 

I am very thankful to my Uncle John for keeping this story alive.  His memory has helped me to see how God was developing my passion for life even when I was too young to understand it.
​
And, if you ask me the question today, the answer is still true.  There’s no doubt.  I. Want. To. Travel!

Next Time: Reading the World

Photo Credits:
Fourth: John Carr Collection
The Others: Carr Collection