looking for approval

I did not always want to be a journalist. Actually, one of my earliest memories is of telling my mom I wanted to be a judge. Judges got to bang hammers against their desks. I still have pictures of myself in second grade, dressed in makeshift judges robes and holding a tiny gavel during dress-up career day. Looking back, I probably looked a little out of place sitting next to all those commandos, baseball players and ballerinas. But my parents seemed to approve.
A few years after that (career day again), a UFO... expert, I guess, visited our class and showed us pictures and videos of crop circles and alien spacecraft (weather balloons?). To this day, I don't know who booked him or what they were thinking when they did it, but I didn't mind at the time. We all sat indian-style in a circle and took turns telling him about our own UFO experiences. Amazingly, every single fifth grader in my class had, at one time or another, made contact. I went home and told my parents I wanted to be a UFO expert. They did not seem to approve.
A few years after that, in middle school, I'm sure, our guidance counselor visited our homeroom and had us each take a short standardized test. It was supposed to tell us what we were best equipped to do when we grew up. The questions were easy, at least. Stuff like, "Do you like to paint?," and "When your friends get in arguments, do you feel the need to help them work out their differences?" When we finished, a friend of mine told me, without an ounce of irony, that he was going to be a secret agent when he grew up. At least according to the test. "What did yours say?" he asked me.
I told him I was going to be a secret agent, too. I didn't have the heart to tell him I was actually facing a choice between golf course/restaurant manager and marketing something or other (as fulfilling as those jobs may be). Needless to say, I did not approve of the test results.
A few years after that, my dad and I were driving to my high school swim meet. He asked me if I knew what I wanted to do with my life. When I said I had no idea, he told me that when he was in high school, he had always wanted to be a journalist. When he was visiting prospective colleges, one of the advisers had asked him if he had any idea what he wanted to major in. He told her journalism, and the adviser asked him if he had worked on his school paper. He told her no, and ended up majoring in logistics. I went home that day and signed up for the necessary prerequisites to get on the school paper. It sounded like fun, and, as it turned out, it was.
A few years after that (over Christmas break, actually), I was sitting in the kitchen with my mom as she made dinner. We were talking about what I might do after I graduate. "You can go be a TV journalist for Fox News!" she said. I got up on my pedistal and told her that, first of all, 90 percent of what's on Fox News doesn't count as journalism, and second of all, I wouldn't work there if they offered me a million dollars. If I wouldn't work for Fox News, then where would I work? I have absolutely no idea. She does not approve.
Looking back, it seems a little weird that I've stuck with journalism as long as I have. Seven years is a long time to stick with anything -- at least it feels like a long time to me now. Now that I'm here, though, I can't really see myself doing anything else. I define myself as a journalist. I define everything around me as a journalist. I couldn't imagine anything else.