The Dreams of a Boy

As a somewhat fully functioning adult, I was thinking the other day about the dreams I had as a child.

Every child has dreams. Doctors, lawyers, firemen, nurses, and teachers all originate in the hearts and minds of dreaming children. Family can play a part in this. Police work seems to run in the veins of some families. Often, preachers beget preachers. What we see as children impacts our dreams.

Likewise, geography may shape our dreams. You won’t find many kids here in the Mississippi heat who aspire to be hockey players. Nor will you find a child in Kansas breaking the news to his parents that he wants to be a shrimper.

Growing up on the Mississippi Gulf Coast in Pascagoula, there were many young boys of my generation who dreamed of operating the drawbridge.

Pascagoula sits on a little point of land that is almost an island. Rivers wrap around the western and northern perimeter, and the Gulf lies to the south. If you have a fear of bridges and need to flee, you will have to head east toward Mobile.

While the drawbridge fascinated young boys, it caused those in a hurry to say things that would later have to be confessed in prayer.

I vividly recall one day riding in the backseat of my parents’ car over the drawbridge into Pascagoula when a shift change was taking place. The man coming on duty was carrying a guitar. There was a small television set in the booth.

And you got to work the drawbridge.

I had a dream.

More than one person has told me that they dreamed of riding on the back of the garbage truck growing up.

The garbage truck, to young eyes, is impressive. It’s loud. Garbage trucks don’t tiptoe around in the morning. They beep and bang, I think, in part to let sleeping folks know they’re already at work.

I remember my brother-in-law telling me that one time, when he was in high school, he overslept because he had mistaken his alarm clock for the sound the garbage truck made while backing up.

What got my attention was the place on the side of the truck where the workers stood.

For kids who explored town on bicycles, riding through neighborhoods while hanging on for dear life seemed like an adventure not often found in Pascagoula.

I had a dream.

Most of those dreams, of course, never panned out. But one dream I think about occasionally took place while I was attending Central Elementary.

Around the fourth grade, we got a new student by the name of Polly.

Polly was confined to a wheelchair. She struggled when she spoke. Watching her struggle saddened me.

In my child’s mind, I just felt like if someone had enough money, they could take Polly somewhere and she could be cured.

At the time, I lived and breathed baseball. I made up my mind that if I ever got rich playing baseball, I would “cure” Polly.

Oh, if life were that easy.

Sorry, Polly.

These were the things I dreamed about. Things that had I achieved them, I thought would make me happy.

One dream I never had was… being married and having children.

While some kids, especially little girls, grow up dreaming about their wedding day, it never really was something that was on my radar. I wasn’t against the idea. It just wasn’t something I aspired to.

But now, after twenty-five years of marriage and two teenage daughters, I have come to realize something:

Sometimes we don’t know we are dreaming until we find ourselves in the middle of a dream.

Perhaps today you look back at your life and realize it hasn’t turned out the way you had dreamed it would. Maybe the dreams you had as a child never panned out.

Pause. Think about all the ways you have been blessed. Think about the people you love. The people who love you. The things you never planned but wouldn’t trade for anything.

And realize that perhaps you are in the middle of a dream right now.