Little Joey
And his writing dream
“So have you decided what you want to be when you grow up? Next year you’re gonna be a senior in high school. Time is running out. You’ve gotta make a decision, Joey,” said his mother.
“Mom, like I’ve told you every year for the last six years, I want to be a writer.”
His mom forcefully slammed her hand down on the kitchen counter, “Joey, will you please get serious! I’m talking about careers, jobs. Writing isn’t a job! Most all writers end up as bums on the street. Most of them turn into alcoholics living off other people. You need to pick a career so that you can support a family and pay for retirement. You need to pick a real job!”
Joey’s father, who was sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee and eating toast, chimed in, “If I were you, Joey, I’d get on with the railroad. Railroad workers have secure jobs with good pay and good insurance and retirement benefits. Work for the railroad for forty years and you’ll be sittin’ pretty come retirement time.”
It was his mother’s turn, “And what makes you think you’re smart enough to be a writer? Your report cards have been absolutely dismal the last couple of years. You’re setting yourself up to be a bum. Look at your brother. Now he’s smart. He made straight A’s throughout high school and now he’s in college studying to be banker. While he is smart enough to look ahead and build a smart, comfortable life, you’ll be a penniless drunken hobo living on the streets. Is that really what you want?”
Joey’s father got up from his chair and carried his empty plate to the kitchen sink. He then filled up his coffee cup, “You know, you might consider being a plumber. Those guys charge an arm and a leg to unclog people’s toilets. And there’s no shortage of clogged toilets. You’d be set for life.”
Joey slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead, “Jesus, I’d rather stick red-hot needles into my eyeballs than spend my life unclogging people’s shitty toilets.”
“Joey! Watch your language!”
“Sorry Mom. But spending my entire life doing some menial job seems utterly meaningless and pointless. I want to be creative. I want to leave my mark on the world. I don’t want to be on my deathbed thinking back fondly on the tens of thousands of toilets I’ve unclogged over the course of my life. I want to be proud of what I accomplished; of my legacy. I want to feel good about my life, not just glad I made money.”
“Money is what it’s all about. You’ll learn that soon enough,” said his father.
“Listen Joey, your father and I are putting your brother through college but if you stick to this ridiculous notion of being a writer then don’t expect us to pay so much as a dime for you to go to college. We’re not gonna waste any money on you being a bum.”
“You know, there are actually some writers who have gotten rich writing.”
“Oh yeah? What? Maybe one out of every five million writers make enough money to support themselves? The rest are on street corners begging for handouts. You really think you can be that one in five million? Then you’re even stupider than we thought. Joey, you’ve simply got to get serious and stop living in a fantasy world!”
“Your mother’s right. You’ve got to make a decision soon. And you know, you might also consider the electric company and the phone company. Those are good jobs, too.”
“I’m outta here.” Joey turned and left the room.
Sitting on a park bench, Joseph put down his pen onto the notebook he had been writing in. Pushing the brim of his hat up on his head, he then ran his fingers through his long gray beard.
It felt so good to finish a story! To put that last period at the end of the last sentence produced a feeling of pure euphoria. It was a joy that never diminished even after finishing thousands of stories. It was just about the grandest feeling in the whole world. He would not trade it for anything.
Luxuriating in that feeling, Joseph looked at the clouds and the birds in the trees and the children playing on the other side of the park. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. What a wonderful life!
Joseph then noticed a man in a suit and tie walking down the sidewalk towards him. On the park bench next to him were a couple stacks of Joseph’s books.
As the man in the suit and tie was about to walk past him, Joseph spoke up, “Excuse me sir. Could I interest you in buying one of my books. They’re all half-price.”
The man stopped and looked at Joseph and the stacks of books. He then let out a snort of derision, “Get a job!”
As the man continued walking Joseph began to laugh. It started as a mere chuckle but grew into a full belly laugh. Looking up into the sky he proclaimed aloud, “People have been telling me that my whole life. Get a job? Yeah, right!”
Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction.
Speaking of park benches…
