Thursday, February 17, 2011

There was this one time in college....

.....I wrote a 12-page anthropology paper about black people and ebonics. Actually, to be more specific, it was about mixed white-black people and whether they used ebonics or not. For my "ethnographic research," I talked to mixed white-black college kids about football, Tupac, and how to make bongs. For my efforts, I got a 100 on the paper.

Last semester, I turned in my final Manual of Operating Procedures for my field epidemiology class with a joke in the budget section about my salary justification for being an MD/MPH/Ninja/Treasure Hunter/Exotic Chef/World Class Cowbell Musician/Flamenco Dancer. For my efforts, I got a reprimand and a dirty look from the professor for being unprofessional. I guess nobody thinks it's cute to be a clown in grad school. But if only...

When I first fell in love with the idea of being a doctor, I had my own idea of what it could potentially look like. It was somewhere between Patch Adams and MacGyver. There's still a part of me that wants to realize that crazy-ass and inappropriate, albeit completely genuine, vision I had. When it's 4 AM on a Wednesday night, that's when some part of my brain looks for a creative outlet and plugs in unabashedly, starts dreaming up wild nonsense that I want to latch onto and become completely serious about. 

You know what I could actually see happening? Someday using my kids as creative canvas. Trying to turn my son(s) into a Ninja/Treasure Hunter. Sure, creativity and outlandishness don't pay the bills, but they're fun as hell at a young age. I'll take him camping and make forts with him. Then when he's old enough, I'll drink with him and talk with him about women. Funny thing is, I didn't have any serious conversations about women with my own father until I had already graduated college. And the first talk, loosely translated, went something like this:

"Son, I know you're just screwing around right now. Just don't make it a habit. ....and don't tell your mom I said that."

That's my dad for you, I guess. Not exactly the deepest conversationalist, but always simple and straightforward. Complete opposite of who I am.

If I have a daughter, I'm screwed. If I have multiple daughters, I'm buying lots of guns when they turn 14. Maybe a battle axe or something too, hang it on the wall facing the doorway for any boys willing to lose their balls to take my girls on a date. But all that aside, they'll learn a thing or two about artsy crap. Music. Books.

And somewhere else along the way, all my kids will learn about strength and its variations. As much strength as I can give them. Strength so they can grow, outrageous passion so they can dream. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

sooo this is what you were doing instead of biostat... typical.


"Because God has a twisted sense of humor, Teena and I somehow became best friends."

eff yoooou.

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