I have always wanted to be a journalist.
Even as a boy, I would get my mother to drive me into town to pick up sheets of newsprint at the local weekly newspaper shop. Back home with these sheets, I would sit at the kitchen table or at the desk in my bedroom, creating newspapers and magazines. I wrote such scintillating prose as, “My grandpa tells me he can’t let his sheep get sick. My grandpa says a sick sheep is a dead sheep.” In some cases, I would make extra copies of my publications and send them to my aunts and uncles and suggest that they might want to subscribe – at a reasonable rate, of course.