Thursday, January 7, 2016

Microstory 229: Perspective Four

When I was a child, I wanted to be a scientist. In fifth grade, I caught wind of this branch of science called biochemistry. I latched onto it, not because I had any clue as to what that meant, but because it sounded sophisticated and impressive. Flash forward three years later and I’m failing science class. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s all due to the chemistry section. I had this idea of science in my head, but I didn’t have any aptitude for it. I just kept deluding myself into thinking that I’ll eventually be able to figure it out, and things will just work themselves into place. That was a terrifying moment, looking at the grades hung up on the wall of the hallway. What was I going to do with my life now? I had no clue, but I was determined to find my passion...just as soon as I spent a bunch of years aimless and wasteful. I barely graduated from high school, and had to drop out of college, partially due to money constraints, but also because I was an idiot. I kept myself up with minimum wage temp jobs for a few more years. During my free time, I started taking whatever continuing education program I could find at the community college. Web development, plumbing, EMT training; it was all nice to know, but nothing came of it. I even took a few airplane flying lessons, but didn’t quite have the scratch for it. One day, my mom was forcing me to get all my crap out of her house when I stumbled upon a book. It was dedicated to my grade school years. There were report cards, some of my best assignments, and yearbook photos. Each year also listed what I wanted to be when I grew up. Every year since preschool, I listed policeman. It wasn’t until fourth grade that I changed my answer to some kind of science professional. It was a child’s dream, no better (if not worse) than scientist, but nothing else was working, so I might as well give it a shot. I’m not a month out of the academy when I’m sent out to track down an alleged kidnapper. Finding him is surprisingly easy, and I do everything right, following all protocols. But he’s not well in the head, and after a bunch of nonsense about losing his teenage infant daughter, he insists on blitzing me. I have no choice but to shoot him dead. Maybe I should have worked harder in photography class.

Perspective Five

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