What Do You Want to Be, Little Boy?

It was Halloween--not night, but afternoon--when the doorbell rang. There stood a little boy, with a paper bag. His mother stood in the background. He was a fireman, wearing a black raincoat that had a little badge on it. He had on a red helmet.

Lots of kids are cute, but this boy gave off a different emanation. Instantly, I liked him. But more than admiration, I felt sympathy for him.

Can you get a correct impression in a few seconds? I am a bit psychic, to partially make up for my many failings. I had the strong impression he had no father. His mother had taken him out before the mayhem could start later on. He was alone and shy. He could have been me, at that age.

I was unprepared, so I knelt down to be nearer his height and admire his uniform. I gave him enough money to buy a bunch of candy. He thanked me and left.

That was years ago, and I still feel the emotion he gave me, not in my head, but in my heart.

I suppose lots of boys would really want to be firemen, and many make it. I had no such ambition, but a toy fire truck was my favorite thing to play with.

I am in awe of people who succeed. They have goals, and achieve them. They are focused, even in youth. I have never had a good job, or made much money. My head was in the clouds. Now it is far too late. I can't make up for a largely wasted life.

Yet I have great ambition. What do you want to do, old man? I want to see the face of God.