“So, Lydia, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
We had just finished reading a book about different jobs people have. And she was obviously thinking about something now. The twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom reflected in her unfocused eyes and her legs kicked lazily off our perch on the top bunk of her bed.
“Huh?” she said, blinking out of her starry-eyed daze.
I repeated my question.
“Oh, me? I know what I’m going to be,” she said confidently. “I’m going to be a famous singer on a stage.”
I frowned at the thought. “You know Lydia. You can be a singer without being a ‘famous’ singer.”
She furrowed her brow. “Well, I want to be a famous one so people follow me around with cameras all the time.”
“Oh dear… Why on Earth would you want people to take your picture all the time?”
She flashed eyes at me, “I don’t want them to take my picture. I want them to follow me around and try so I can say ‘Stop it! Why do you follow people everywhere? You are bad people and you only make people unhappy. Quit your job!” She smiled at me.
I cleared my throat in surprise. “Okay… So, you want to be a famous singer for the sole purpose of convincing the paparazzi to stop taking pictures of famous people?”
She stuck a finger in her cheek. “Hmm… Yep.”
I looked down at the book again in dismay. “Being an astronaut might be easier…”
She leaned back and stuck a finger at my nose “Don’t talk me out of it! Quit your job!”
“Okay. Okay. You’re a natural. Follow your dreams kid.”