It will be so much more fun to play the clip while you read the post.
All kids dream of what they want to be. The great thing about these dreams is that they don’t have to be realistic. Some want to be president or an astronaut or a garbage collector. If they are smart, they’ll be a rich plumber! Not me.
I didn’t want to be a teacher or a nurse (both big female professions when I was growing up). Body fluids (even my own) make me barfy and naughty kids would make me naughty.
For a short while (very short) when I was ten I wanted to be a missionary nun until I heard about the bugs, poor sanitary conditions and heat. Actually it was because of the ugly shoes. No way I was going to wear those old ladies shoes. Someone else would have to save those souls.
Don’t be fooled though. I had dreams. Big dreams. Gigantic dreams.
I wanted to be a rock star.
Big money! Adoring fans! Fabulous clothes! These are the things dreams are made of.
This is no little thing. First off, women weren’t rock stars when I was young. Janis Joplin and Joan Jett were among the first to break that glass ceiling. There were other female singers but I wanted to be a jiving, hot rock star. You know, like Mick Jagger or John Lennon (although I’d prefer to be alive.)
The other major problem was that I couldn’t sing on key. If the music was loud enough would it matter? Maybe in the audition? Could I fake it? (Women are good at faking it.)
When I was in my twenties, I had a good friend named Phyllis. She was pretty cool. Her clothes were cutting edge stuff and she had wonderful hair that she could wear in all the latest styles. If she wasn’t my bestie, I would hate her.
We loved to dance and would hit the night spots that had bands. She loved Led Zeppelin and I loved Credence Clearwater.
We would boogie the night away and then get up the next morning and go to work. (Note to self: How did I do that when I barely make the 11 o’clock news now?)
One day we were in a diner talking about our career aspirations (she wanted to be a rock star too!) and a guy overhead us. He was the leader of a very popular local band and looking for a vocalist. He would consider two women. He gave us his business card and said to call for an audition.
We were ecstatic beyond belief.
We started practicing our songs at her apartment. Damn near got her thrown out. We did our dance moves. Arms moved in unison. We were way cool.
In a huge moment of stupidity (or lucidity) I told one of our other friends – someone much more grounded in reality than we were. (I know it’s hard to believe I had any friends grounded in reality. I tried to avoid them.)
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even crack a smile. She suggested we get a cheap full length mirror and watch ourselves. Maybe record ourselves too. Just to be sure we were in sync with our moves. Be sure we had our groove on. See how our voices sounded together.
What a glorious idea!
We put on our tied-dyed t-shirts and raggedy jeans with floppy sandals. Phyllis wore a beaded headband (didn’t I tell you she could wear anything in her hair and look fabulous?).
We cranked up the music. Tuned up our voices and….and….and….
Holy cow! Who were those two dorks in the mirror? What was that screechy sound? Where were the cool chicks?
That, my friends, was the end of my days as a rock star.
So what did you really want to be when you grew up?