This page ©2001
Chip Brown.

Beware Me

From time to time I am asked to give a little talk before groups. I've always been a good storyteller and I don't find it hard. That was until the other day. A friend of mine, a teacher, asked me to give a little talk to her kids. It was some sort of career day and she was inviting several people to talk.

I have never considered what I do as a career. I just sit around writing nonsense and hope that occasionally a newspaper will ask me to write some for them. It pays the bills.

But when she asked me to give a talk I asked if maybe somebody with a job might be more qualified to talk about careers. Oddly, she and my wife agreed that I have a job. She was talking about my writing, but I think my wife was talking about me cleaning the house. But I guess if I had a real job I wouldn't have time to talk to kids about my job. So I figured what he heck, I can make something up.

I stopped by the school that morning and stood in line with all the other "Career" people. The first to go was a mechanic, he explained how he works on cars and how what he learned in school applies to what he does today.

The next guy was a policeman and he told about his interesting career. How he catches bad guys and the such. I found myself wishing I had become a mechanic or a policeman.

Finally, it came my time. Now, I have never been short of words. I can stand in front of the largest crowd and tell them why I think Union County needs a Lake Monster. But when I stood there in front of those seventh graders I couldn't think of a thing to say.

The mechanic had tools to show the kids. The policeman had a big gun. I was just standing there with nothing. The only thing I could manage to say was, "When I was your age my teachers told me if I didn't take life seriously I wouldn't amount to anything. Just look at me now." It was about this point I started crying.

One of the kids took pity on me and handed me a Kleenex. The teacher realized I was totally lost and began to ask me questions such as, what education one had to have to do my writing.

"Well, none I guess," now why did I say that? Why couldn't I have said a degree in psychology and philosophy? Rats, I had missed my chance.

I think by this time the teacher and I were both feeling a little awkward. She asked me what sort of people I work with. My office is ten feet by twelve. The only person that comes by is my cat, and I don't consider him a coworker. For a brief moment I considered telling her about the voices in my head, but luckily I fought the urge.

So, finally I just said, I write stuff and hope newspapers will pay me a few dollars a week for the stories. Then I launched into a tirade of why the kids should listen to their teacher or they'd turn out like me. Halfway through, I realized I was giving them the same speech a convict had given troubled teens on the Montel Williams Show that morning.

After it was over, the kids gave all of us "career" people little drawings they had made for us. They thanked us and we all left. The mechanic, policeman and myself all went to the parking lot. The mechanic got in his Jeep and the policemen got in his Mustang. I stood there and watched them drive off, thinking how successful they were.

I sat down on the sidewalk and waited on my wife to come pick me up. This little girl came along and I recognized her from the class. She sat down beside me and thanked me again for coming by. Then her mother pulled up, and as she got in the car she turns to me and says, "Don't worry, you'll get a job one day."

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