by Tom Shafer
July 24, 2022
Okay, so how many times did you hear that from adults when you were growing up? If I had a nickel for every time I answered that query, I’d have at least a million of them by now — which my local bank might grudgingly convert to 50,000 one dollar bills for me. BTW, in case you were wondering, one million nickels would weigh a little more than eleven thousand pounds (according to a money weight calculator — which is an actual thing!), or about the same weight as a female African bush elephant. Hopefully, you were exchanging your nickels for dollar bills as you traveled through your youth — and investing them in something more valuable than Pokémon cards, Gummy Bears, or slap bracelets.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut (chronicled in an earlier writing, “My Moonshot,” found under the For Your Consideration tab). I lived and breathed all things NASA, and dreamed about heroic voyages to the moon and Mars. Unfortunately, family genetics intervened when I was eight, and since that time I have required much assistance to see anything clearly beyond the end of my nose. (Back then, astronauts were required to have 20/20 vision.) By the time I reached junior high, I decided that I could work for NASA in some other capacity instead, and planned for a career in engineering to pursue that end. Of course, I never completed that degree (am just a handful of classes short) and settled on teaching language arts to future astronauts and other NASA employees (by my count, the number is still approaching zero).
As an educator, I spent my first four years teaching seventh graders, and I know that I utilized variations of the “What do you want to be” question when it was appropriate. At that age, some of my more thoughtful kids would provide answers that suggested evidence of insight and serious reflection: they considered careers in health care or social work or even education. My more athletic and artistic kids looked to those avocations for inspiration, dreaming of becoming musicians, actors, and “ball” players. My less serious students announced that they would like to be millionaires (as if that in and of itself was a career field) — or that they had no plans for growing up, that being “a dult” didn’t seem appealing at all.
I think I then recognized that there were at least three versions of the “What do you want to be” inquiry. The kid version, typically asked from ages five to eleven, almost always elicited similar responses based on very obvious jobs that kids of those ages saw around them: doctors and nurses, firefighters, mailpersons, truck drivers, teachers, and ballplayers. The adolescent version offered more refined choices like those listed above. I realized that there was even an adult version, suggesting that people in this category were not satisfied with their current “jobs” and wanted something more rewarding or better paying.
After four years of junior high, I “graduated” to our high school, and was now teaching American literature to juniors and a research-oriented writing class to seniors. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the question was patently wrong for a number of reasons, the main one being that my kids didn’t really know what jobs were available to them. They had all planned on attending college (because they were told they had to), but the vast majority of them had little to no idea what career they wanted to pursue, nor what education was needed to successfully procure a job in that field.
Then, I started thinking about my friends and their careers. Some were working as nurses, engineers, firefighters, and social workers, those noted endeavors represented by the “What do you want to be” question. But so many others were not. My wife was performing sales support for a local printing company; my brother was driving a forklift for a pet store chain; a good friend was laboring in a tool and die shop; another was selling used cars for a local dealership.
Now, I know for a fact that my wife didn’t tell her first grade teacher that she wanted to work sales support and I’m relatively sure that my good friend didn’t report to his sixth grade teacher that he wanted to be a machinist fabricating pressworking dies. And, I don’t think either of them thought about these “careers” as high school students. But, those were the vocations they were now employed in, the ones that were paying the bills.
How did that happen?
Life happened.
And reality.
And necessity.
So, for the last twenty years of my teaching career, I attempted to enlighten my students about all of the professions that existed — or at least those that were less common. And, I stopped asking that silly “What do you want to be” question. Instead, I posed a new question, one that was much more relevant to my students and their future lives.
“How do you want to live?”
Isn’t that the question that really needs answering?
If you want to live in the posh hills of 90210, that will require a career that affords you a considerable amount of income — or the willingness to subject yourself to the potential terrors of being a “sugar mama” or “sugar daddy.” Or, if like Matt Foley, you want to “live in a van down by the river,” well, that will require significantly less money — and effort. Most of us end up settling for something between these extremes, typically called the middle class, which demands its own set of prerequisites and challenges.
I think my students appreciated the “How do you want to live” question, mostly because it was a different way to approach the concept of a post-high school world. Did I care what they wanted to be when they grew up? Sure, but I was much more concerned that they were seeking and ultimately living the life — and lifestyle — they coveted. By reflecting and focusing on an end result, my students could properly frame what they needed to do to get there.
It’s okay to ask seven-year-olds what they want to be when they grow up — certainly because the answers are cute, sometimes poignant, and often hilarious. But, when kids reach middle school, change the question, ask them how they want to live. They still have to muse about future education and careers and potential work (and moving out of your house!), but they will also have to consider those things with a goal in mind: Beverly Hills, Middle Class America — or a van down by the river!
