Mean Rooster Soup

Alex came to me today and said “Z said he wants to be an author when he grows up.”

This was news to me, because last time he told me about his life’s ambitions, he said he wanted to be a fireman. He has actually wanted to be a fireman for a couple of years now. He is 6.

Z’s first childhood ambition was a lot more interesting. After his second Christmas, he went around saying “Ho, Ho, Ho!” in a loud voice, and then he declared that he wanted to be Santa Claus when he grew up. He was 22 months old. I assured him through suppressed laughter that he could be that and many other things. He continued with the Ho, Ho, Ho-ing for several months — It was a real holler.

Then at the age of 3, he saw the movie Fat Albert, and he decided that was what he wanted to be when he grew up (“Hey, Hey, Hey!”). At 4 he saw his first fire engine, and was duly impressed. Other than a Jedi Knight, that has been his one ambition that he keeps going back to.

But an author is a new one for him. I didn’t even know he knew that word, although it shouldn’t surprise me, since I write, and have taken the kids to a few book signings to meet authors that they have enjoyed, so maybe his wanting to be an author and write stories wasn’t such a stretch after all.

I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I want to be an author. I want to write books,” he declared.

“What kind of books do you want to write?” I asked.

“Church books. I’m going to be the holiest man on earth.”

At this point I am sorry to say that I was unable to help myself, and I nearly choked on the mouthful of the apple I was munching on. Z is the one kid that I have had to drag out the door kicking and screaming “I don’t want to go! Church is so boring!”

“But you can’t stay home by yourself, it’s too dangerous, and there won’t be anyone to take care of you. It will be just as boring here,” I always tell him, shivering at the thought of coming home to a burning house or some other equally frightening scenario.

“The holiest man on earth?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even.

“Why? Who is the holiest man on earth?” (He is totally serious.)

“Probably the Prophet,” I tell him.

“Well, then I’ll be the second holiest man on earth, ’cause I am really trying to be like Jesus.”

At this point I wondered if, at the age of 6, Moses’s or Elijah’s Mothers ever thought that their sons would take their turn as the holiest men on earth. Or Alma the younger, or Saul of Tarsus — what would their mothers have said?