Who Designated You

We have designated drivers and designated hitters But where are the designated cowboys? The designated artists? The designated illustrators? The designated astronauts? The designated dancers? Who decides? Is it the child or a parent? A mentor? A committee? A judge? Who gets to designate me? Will they designate me at birth or is it later? Do they take my interests and talents into account, or is it just a random designation? Can we designate ourselves? Maybe, if we grow up in the right part of the world. Maybe not, if we don’t. Poof. I’m a poet. Wham. I’m an aerospace engineer. Bing! I’m a physician’s assistant. A wonderful truth worth pondering. Some children are born into a family business, and they know what they will be doing because there is no discussion whatsoever. Poof. They will be painting lawn furniture all their lives. Wham. They will be gardeners, taking over Mommy’s business. Pow. They will be engineers. Their whole family has been designated to be engineers. No discussion. Just an inner knowing at birth. It is nice to think that we live in a world where we can designate ourselves. We can be a doctor or lawyer or pharmaceutical rep. But can we really? Can the poor really afford to go to school eleven or twelve years without any pay to become a veterinarian? Can the ones who can barely graduate high school due to lots of pressure from home to not buy into the “world of school” truly designate themselves librarians or archeologists? I would like to think that they could. I really do wish I could think that. If that was true, if we could all designate ourselves and be anything we wanted to be, I would designate myself to be a dragon-training, first-rate, Indianapolis 500 stunt car race driver. How about you?