I penned what I still consider to be one of my best essay's ever, entitled, "If I Was 100 Feet Tall." In those three paragraphs, I chronicled my journey through jungles where I'd converse eye-to-eye with giraffes while parrots flew round my head, and explained how I'd walk across the Atlantic ocean. It was a hoot. Truly, it was the most fun I had ever had with schoolwork up to that point. Yep, that's right. It even beat out finger-painting in kindergarten.
The next day, we all arrived in class eager for feedback on our magna opera. However, the teacher entered the room with a solemn look that instantly drained the class of its energy. She began a presentation on gigantism; it was a cautionary tale about a man known as the Alton Giant. "Sonuvabitch, she's calling me out," I thought. At first, I was mortified, but that quickly gave way to anger. She explained that this gentle giant died at the age of 22 due to his medical condition. The moral of her story: be careful what you wish for.
I had been set up.
Two things happened as a result. One, it spawned a lifelong mistrust for institutionalized authority. Two, I decided to ignore her practicality and promise myself to never stop imagining what might be, because who wants to live in a world where third-graders have to worry about the consequences of being 100-feet tall?
I also really like the Wu-Tang Clan.
"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." -Oscar Wilde