I thought I had stopped having dreams, at least the kind we had when we were kids. You know, the ones about how you’ll grow up and save the world, or be rich and famous, or maybe all that and then some? Maybe they would be better called fantasies instead of the dreams of youth.
It’s funny, but one thing I remembered clearly from those days is that I loved writing poetry. I guess it’s one of the few artistic endeavors I thought I had any talent for. Recently, upon entering my retirement, I signed up for a class called “Cultural Divide: Can We Close It Through Science-Flavored Poetry?” The curriculum included the opportunity to review works of about a dozen scientist-poets. As an Old Fart, I had no idea such a creature even existed, let alone in multiples! I remembered vaguely, though, that I had, once upon a time in 5th or 6th grade I think, written what I had thought was a great (and long!) poem about all the places I would go and visit, and what I would/could see and do there, if I ever had the chance.
Clearly, this poem encapsulated a range of my own youthful fantasies. Those youthful fantasies have been largely supplanted by my current and very different dreams. IDK – maybe I should call them Fantasies of an Old Fart instead?