Shattered Dreams…
Others, if they think about me at all, probably think, there is a successful, happy guy, who has the world by the tail. Some snippets of that view are close to the truth … on some days. But underlying the facade of perceivable success, I am immersed in abject failure and misery. On several levels, my life is in a bankruptcy of achievement. Let me explain…
My office wall is decorated with diplomas from my years of pain and suffering. The University of Tennessee granted me a degree, Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering (BSEE), perhaps in order to get rid of me, but once you’ve got it, the reasons and grades don’t matter much. A few years later, I received a Master of Business Administration (MBA) from the University of Pittsburgh. That one required four years of evening school and many laborious hours of team meetings at one of the pubs just off campus.
Now, you may be thinking, Why does a guy with a BSEE and MBA consider himself a failure? Consider this: as a wee lad, and probably up through 8th or 9th grade, my life dream included going to college and majoring in Spelling. You see, spelling was always my strongest subject in school where I never made less than an A. Imagine what a crushing blow it would be to learn that there is no such thing as a university degree in your favorite and strongest area of endeavor. That impoverishing news was accompanied by an explanation that there is no such thing as a professional speller — you know, an adult who gets paid to spell. Geeesh… I wasn’t so sure this growing up thing was all it was cracked up to be.
At the age of 7 or 8, I did not connect the dots relating education to occupation. My educational goal of Spelling was not complimentary to what I really wanted to do when I grew up. So what? That disconnect was years away from realization and impact. Turning my face upward at their awesome sight and sound, there was no doubt I was going to be a jet test pilot. I knew enough not to go into combat and get my ass shot off. But, test pilot… Getting to fly all the latest planes, zooming around at the speed of sound at low altitude scaring the shit out of little old ladies… yeah, I had a calling, for sure. This was so good because it allowed me to safely put aside those childish ambitions of cowboy, fireman, policeman. All the other boys were going to be one of those. I was going to be a jet test pilot…
By around age 12 or 13, I had learned that to be a jet test pilot, you had to first go into combat and get your ass shot off. Scratch that nonsense. Reality-based life decisions were still slightly beyond my grasp, but for a brief moment, I had a new career goal — Goat Counter.
We frequently visited one of our country relatives. After the huge country suppers, while the women cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen, the men went out back to smoke and tell lies. That’s what I called it, though they were all good men and wouldn’t think of telling a lie. They were just spinnin’ tall tales and shootin’ the bull. After a little while Uncle Fred, with pipe dangling from his mouth, would break from the group, and head off toward the barnyard. Sometimes one or two of the other men would go with him, sometimes he went alone. One time when he was going alone, I asked him where he was going. “Over at the barn,” came the reply. “Whacha gon’ do there?” I asked. “Count the goats,” Uncle Fred mumbled through the clenched teeth gripping his pipe stem. “Kin I go count goats, too?” I pleaded. By then, a couple of other country cousins had joined me, listening expectantly to the exchange. Uncle Fred paused, took his pipe out and examined it closely for manufacturers defects for what seemed a long time, then looked up at us and said we could go for a few minutes, but we better watch our step walking across the barnyard, and come on back when he told us to.
Dodging cow-piles across the barnyard, we didn’t utter a word as we followed Uncle Fred over to the goat pen. Once there, we leaned on the fence the way he did, and intently studied the herd. Uncle Fred pointed out one ram to be avoided because it was “mean as a snake.” A nanny was great with child and about ready to pop. Several baby goats were running around. There are few things cuter than a young kid that is still sweet and innocent. It is amazing how human a goat’s eyes are, right down to the eyelashes. After standing there a few minutes, Uncle Fred asked how many we counted, and of course we hadn’t. So, each of us started counting and, though not in unison, quite close together, sang out, “21,” “19,” “22″. Uncle Fred looked at us, looked back at the goats, played with his pipe, and said, “That’s priddy close. Y’all make good goat counters some day. Now, y’all young’uns get on back to the house. I got things to finish up out here at the barn.”
I always suspected that Uncle Fred had a bottle of hooch stashed out at the barn. And when he headed out to count goats after supper, he was also going to visit that bottle for a quick swig. Yessir, goat counting looks to me to be an honest and honorable occupation. Something to aspire to…
Regular or longtime readers know that I failed to achieve my dreams to be a professional speller, a jet test pilot, and a goat counter. I have had a good life, but the shards of shattered dreams occasionally prickle and ache like a long-healed broken bone in bad weather.
20 Comments so far
Leave a reply
Dreams from childhood seem to be the most painful to lose. Simple, honest and naive. Seems that growung up never stops hurting.
Dreams and choices aren’t always in sync. What a great inspiration your Uncle Fred was, and you may yet achieve that ambition to become a goat counter. Trouble is you have to find land zoned properly, build a pen, learn some husbandry and veterinary skills, and decide how many goats you can afford to count. Almost as much trouble as the MBA.
Jean: That’s what we miss so much about childhood. Simple, honest, naive. And that gives me the perfect lead-in to my comment back to…
Bonnie: Naaah… The 12-year old in me naively simplifies it to make it attainable: Get some goats, put ‘em in a pen. Count ‘em.
Maybe you could get a job counting EVERYBODY ELSE’S goats! You could be the County Goat Counter.
County Goat Counter… Yeah, I like it… Has a nice rhythm and rhyme. Maybe I could even work my way up to County Bounty Goat Counter. Or move over to Maryville and be the Blount County Bounty Goat Counter. The possibilities are endless…
It might be a bit late in life to have a second career as a pilot…but you are a pretty good speller…and I’m sure there are plenty of goats that need to be counted!
What a very enjoyable post to read! I always loved spelling, too. I won the third grade spelling bee with the word “vacuum”. I don’t think any event before or since has quite ever equaled that accomplishment.
I think my late husband felt those shards of shattered dreams on a regular basis Winston; and I’ve always felt you and he would have had a whole lot in common. I’ll tell you one thing….he would have loved your Uncle Fred; and I think you and he could have used a few sessions of counting goats out by the barn with his bottle of hooch as adults….just to ease the prickle of those shattered dreams.
And hey….I think you are a superb speller.
Only around Xmas do I buy a game bird and remove its feathers before cooking it.
So it’s not often I’m a pheasant plucker
I don’t know if I had any aspirations as a child (if I don’t count marrying Cheyenne played by Clint Walker which sadly was dashed when I found out he was happily married) except staying on the farm which I didn’t get to do. It might be a lack of aspirations back then explain some of what went wrong…
I wanted to parlay my BSEE from the University of Tennessee into being CEO of ALCOA. 40 came and went so I figured I’d have to change my goal. I found out NASA did not take applications for astronauts if you were over 40. So I resolved to myself that I would have to just be a winning Indy 500 driver. Oh oh, by that time I couldn’t even drive my own car very well.
So here I am, an old fart, happy to get my senior discount at Wendy’s. Maybe when I wake up from this dream I will be the rock and roll singer I always wanted to be. One never knows…
Success……..
….. as I tended to my flowerbeds and preened the garden path to the patio today, I did so with a heavy and aching heart….. I tugged at weeds with a furrowed brow…. I daubed the sweat on my freckled……
Counting goats is an old and honorable profession; it’s even mentioned in the Odyssey of Homer (although Melanthius, the goatherd, comes to a bad end).
But fear not. You could count swine instead.
Came over via the Straight White Guy.
Its been a tough go in my home tonight (I have three boys)… and this post brought a big grin to my face. If it was your purpose to entertain and allow one to escape into your fond and funny memory… then you have succeeded. Most definitely. GREAT post! I’m still laughing…
That is so sad! And now you’ve made me want to be a goat counter. Is it to late to train? I can’t be a speller as I struggle with double letters e.g. I do not have the slightest idea how to spell exagerration.
[...] one. On May 26, just three short days ago, I wrote a tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek post titled Shattered Dreams… , which contained these lines: At the age of 7 or 8, I did not connect the dots relating education [...]
An Engineer determines the number of goats by counting all the goat legs and dividing that number by four.
OOOH YEAH! The days at Uncle Fred’s. Good food and family fun. The men did tell tall tales while the women and girls cleared the tablen and washed the dishes. My cousin Norma Jean and I rinsed the dishes and dried the silverware as the women talked about puttin up corn, beans, and makin dill pickles! The men also played “washers” and I still think it would be fun to pitch a few washers. Now, the hooch question,”Daddy, why does your breath smell so funny?”
“Well, honey, that’s just a little spearmint gum.”
One might say that life got your goat…
[...] Educational Writing Help The Art of BS: How to Succeed on Papers and Essays | College and Finance nobody asked… » Shattered Dreams… Tags high school student elementary school grade teacher grade math grade science This product [...]