I had the great privilege to speak to a group of elementary school students last week.
The event was part of Roosevelt Elementary School's "Hometown Heroes" series, in which they bring in local people to talk about their careers.
It's kind of like Career Day or Bring Your Parent to School Day (but you don't have to be a parent).
I don't think of what I do as heroic, per se, but Mrs. Rai, a Grade 3/4 teacher, felt that journalism was a worthy profession because of its importance to democracy.
"A well-informed citizenry is the best defence against tyranny," said Thomas Jefferson, one of the founders of the American experiment. His words hold so much relevance today, nearly two-and-a-half centuries later, as the U.S. appears to be going willingly down that road.
Whenever I get a chance to interact with groups of children, I am always encouraged by how bright, inquisitive and insightful they can be. Perhaps there are future journalists among them.
My own journey to journalism was a long and winding road.
My earliest memory of career aspirations was to be a police officer. Not just any police officer. There was a cop who used to direct traffic at the intersection of Albert Street and Dewdney Avenue in Regina, Saskatchewan. I wanted to be him.
But as a teenager, I developed lofty aspirations of being a famous writer, artist and/or musician. Despite the efforts of parents, teachers and others to show me the path to get there, I was determined to get there the hard way, the noble way, without education, mentoring or help of any kind.
Yes, I was really stupid.
In retrospect, I simply did not have the single-mindedness and possibly the talent to get there even if I had followed the smart path.
Teenager: "When I grow up I want to be a musician."
Mom: "Oh honey, pick one, you can't do both."
At one point near the end of high school, I took a test at the back of a book called What Color is Your Parachute? The result was that I should pursue a career in journalism.
But that's not the kind of writer I wanted to be, so I spent the next couple of decades holding down various "day jobs" while "trying" to luck into the proverbial break that would liberate me from the drudgery and propel me into a fantasy world of fame and riches.
Throughout my life, I have seen many people who are much more single-minded and talented also never get their big break. Some of them make a decent living at it, but it's a tough row to hoe. One that has always proved too tough for me.
The use of the word parachute in the title of the book suggests the "something to fall back on" that parents and guidance counsellors are always talking about in case your dreams don't work out.
When we're young, nobody wants to think that we might end up needing a parachute.
I'm glad I eventually found the colour of mine and that I get to talk about it with kids, some of whom may need a parachute of their own someday.
