We had interest reports in grade school, long, drawn-out essays where fifth graders rambled on about pet snakes or Dad’s golf clubs or the brasier they found hanging on the stair railing.
Most days I brought my train set; my father lugged it to the school in a big cardboard box with handles on the side. I told the class how I wanted to be a train engineer. I would toot the horn and turn the wheel and keep a fire in the boiler.
“What if someone jumped in front of the train?” That was the class fifteen-year-old. Think Nelson from The Simpsons. So annoying.
I thought about that for a minute. Then I would have to stop the train! I would lose time and money and the people who ran the train company wouldn’t like me anymore. But, maybe I could keep going. The fellow in front of the train wanted it to hit him, afterward all. “But why would anyone do that?”
For my next interest report, I brought in an old stethoscope and discussed how I would use it in my career as a psychiatrist.