In the Playground of Imagination

As a kid, I had a brilliant plan— Become a dentist! Be The Man! White coat, big bucks, drills that whir... Then I saw my cousin’s clinic—Brrr! The smell alone could curl your soul, I noped right out, no toothy goal. Next up: Baseball! I had the swing! A Little League semi-almost-king. Parents cheered like I was Babe, Though I mostly warmed the bench in shade. Scouts? None came. (Shocking, I know.) So I let that dream... quietly go. Then hoop dreams rose in high school halls— I could dribble, pass, and almost ball. Varsity? I gave it a shot, But turns out, talent—I had not. Coach picked others, and I stayed sane, Dodged early fame, and homework pain. At last, I thought, “Let’s try the brain!” Books, not balls, would be my lane. Still played for fun, just not the pros, (Except in dreams, where anything goes). Years rolled on, life found its groove, My hands got steady, found their move. Not on a bat, nor tossing a ball— But fixing bones from big to small. From fractured dreams to fractured hips, I made my peace with life’s quick flips. An orthopedic doc I came to be— Not rich from teeth, but hey—it’s dad’s son!