This morning, on FirstNews, we had a story about how people feel about certain jobs. Not surprisingly, firefighters, nurses and teachers, came out on top in the "most-respected" category. Least respected: chubby, increasingly gray-headed weathermen who pretend to be writers by using the cyber-scribbling known as blogging. The survey got me thinking...no small achievement...about what kids say they want to be when they grow up. When I was little and adults would ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I would always answer "Taller." I was serious. I had three big brothers who seemed like giants and my greatest wish was to be able to look down on them. Today, I am taller than two of them but all three still look down on me. I am actually 5'10 and 3/4 inches. I was 5'11" until, on Christmas Eve when I was 20, in trying to create a toboggan run for my nieces and nephews, I slid head-first into a tree. I actually saw little birdies and stars...just like Wile E. Coyote used to in the cartoons. Not only did that make me shorter, but it may explain some other behaviors and traits. Anyway, even at a little above 5'10", it means I'm of average height, according to another survey I saw recently. However, around KMBC, I am very much below average...in height and pretty much any other measure. Larry Moore is 8 feet tall. Len Dawson, 8'3". Bryan Busby, 7'11". Lara Moritz, amazingly, is over nine feet tall. Jim Flink is really only around 6'1" but add the hair and he shoots up to 7'3". I may be a little off on those numbers, after all, you've seen my weather forecasts, but that's how it seems. Sort of like when the thermometer says 90 but the heat index, the feels-like temperature, is 100. For me, around Channel 9, the Height Index is always about eight feet. But, as usual, I have strayed from the point of this story. Blame it on the toboggan debacle.

Back to jobs. At the age of three, I had a red, cardboard suitcase and a beat-up Bing Crosby-esque golf hat. I would put on the hat, grab the suitcase and go door-to-door, pretending to be an insurance salesman. The other kids were playing cops and robbers or, in that politically incorrect age, cowboys and Indians and I was asking Mrs. Rodencal if she'd like whole life or universal coverage. My parents drew the line when I wanted to get a bunch of calendars made up at the holidays. So, I guess, that was my first consideration of what I wanted to be as an adult. It actually came true, in a way, since, doing the weather, I am often just selling a bill of goods.

The oldest boy, Alex, wanted to be the Red Power Ranger for awhile. Then, last year as he became a Junior in high school, he decided to look for a fall-back profession just in case the super hero thing didn't pan out. I do picture him, years from now, looking longingly at the Red Power Ranger costume he wore for Halloween, once upon a time, and wondering "What if..."

As for Taylor, ever since he could talk, people have told him he should be a lawyer. He will argue any side of any issue for any amount of time. His theme song should be the tune Groucho Marx sang: "Whatever it is...I'm AGAINST it!" He can verbally turn on a dime, if need be. When he and his older brother were little, they pronounced their own names "Altie" for Alex and "Tootie" for Taylor. (They continued to do so until we were threatened with a lawsuit by the producers of The Facts of Life.) One time, "Tootie" proudly pointed to a lovely design rendered in bold Crayon strokes on the once-perfectly white walls of our living room. The conversation with mom went like this:

Tootie: "Look! Look! Look what Tootie did!"
Mom: "That's very naughty. We don't draw pictures on the walls."
Tootie, somberly: "Altie did it."

Next case, your honor.

Samantha wants to be a neonatologist or an emergency room physician or a lawyer...sing a little, on the side...ride horses...have children...live in New York and Branson and Wisconsin....all before 10:00 tomorrow morning. If anyone has the energy to do it all...it's Samantha. The neonatology thing has been floating around her brain since she was about five or six, when she wrote a letter to the president of Harvard Medical School asking what she should study in order to be ready for college. He sent a very nice reply. When I was five or six, I still had trouble getting my clothes on right-side out.

As for the youngest boy, Harrison. He's mentioned a few things but is in no hurry to grow up and face those decisions. For now, he'll drink his chocolate milk...watch some TV...go as many days as possible without having to actually put on anything but PJs. I guess he gets his ambition gene from his father...who, even at this stage of the game would, mostly, just like to be taller.