What do you want to be when you grow up?

Have you ever been asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”.

I was asked that when I was being interviewed for my high school year book.  Here’s what was later published:
Ambition:  A Life in the Theatre
Probable Destiny:  An Usherette

My brother was once asked that as he was carrying my doll carriage down the stairs of our apartment building - for the thousandth time - so I could play with it outside.
He replied, with a shrug:  “A doll carriage up and down taker.”
He later changed his mind and got himself a PhD and became a professor of Electrical & Computer Engineering.

And then there were sisters, Rena age 8 & Debbie age 6.
When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, Rena replied, “A Ballerina”.
Then it was Debbie’s turn.  She quickly followed with, “A Balledebbie”.

The World of Marketing as Seen Through These Eyes

Marketing and advertising fascinate me.

I thoroughly enjoy  ads that are well-done, and I'm suitably appalled by those that miss the mark.  

For the purpose of today's scribble, I'm going to share with you a couple of ads that really amuse me.  I'll also share some I've created myself, but never made it into print.  First my own work, written with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek:

When I was earning my living by tutoring children with learning disabilities, I created this ad:

I'LL TEACH YOUR CHILD A LESSON HE'LL NEVER FORGET!

When newspapers reported several tragic deaths of children riding dirt bikes, I thought of this billboard ad:

BUY YOUR CHILD A DIRT BIKE FOR HIS LAST BIRTHDAY!

And when legislation was passed that made wearing a seat belt mandatory, I suggested,

BELT YOUR KID!

But here are two that did make it into public view.  Enjoy!

  

Where is Dorothy?

Dear Dorothy,

You arrived in Montreal from Czechoslovakia in 1952, with your parents and your younger brother, George. You spoke no English. The teacher asked me to be your ‘buddy’ because we were on the same school bus. We quickly became best friends.

Remember the red door? My apartment building and yours were separated by just one building, and it had a red door.

The school bus would drop us off on Barclay Avenue across from Kent Park, and we’d each run home. The minute we were inside I'd phone you, or you'd phone me. “Meet me at the Red Door!” And we would. Right away.

And sometimes you'd come over to my apartment. My older brother loved it when you came over; you were my first friend to have develped breasts.

I miss you, Dorothy Gross. Meet me at the red door.