WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP

September 23, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

Do you remember when you were a kid bein’ asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Now, they just ask me, “When are you going to grow up?” Well, I have news for you; I’m too old to grow up. Anywho, I like myself just the way I am.

Back when I was a kid, I really didn’t have any trouble knowin’ what I wanted to be when I grew up. What I wanted to be was whatever I had watched on TV the night before. One day I might want to be a cowboy, and the next I might want to be a circus performer. I can remember watchin’ boxin’ on TV and the next mornin’ I left the house with boxin’ gloves on my hands, boxer shorts on, and an old house coat Mom bought me one of the times I had been in the hospital. Some of those times I had been in the hospital were because of a profession I had seen on TV. A cowboy jumpin’ out of a tree onto the back of their horse isn’t quite as fun as it looks on TV. Plus, horses don’t like it.

The only time my future employment looked bleak was when there wasn’t anything on TV. If that happened, then the next day I was a wreck. How was I goin’ to support my future family? This family, by the way, consisted of Elly Mae Clampit, Rin Tin Tin and Cheeta. Anywho, here’s what happened once.

“Well, what are you gonna be today?” asked my cousin Coy.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “There wudn’t nothin’ on TV last night.”

“So, what are we playin’ today then?

“I don’t know.”

“I know,” said Little Rusty. “Let’s play Tarzan.”

“We can’t play Tarzan,” I said. “He don’t come on ‘til Saturday.”

“Well, let’s think of somethin,” said Coy.

“Man,” I said, “I wish I could think of a real job. You know, one where you don’t have to work real hard, and you don’t have to spend a lot of time doin’ stuff, but you still get paid.”

“There ain’t no jobs like that,” said Coy.

“My preacher’s got one,” said Little Rusty.

“What?”

“Yeah, he don’t do nothin’ except on Sunday mornin’ and on Sunday night, and then it’s just for an hour, unless he gets wound up.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” said Coy.

“Hold it,” I said. “That’s not really too bad of an idea.”

“Yes it is,” said Coy. “Little Rusty’s church dudn’t even got a piano in it.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know, but a church is supposed to have a piano.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll call my preacher up and ask him about it. He’s really smart and we’ve got a piano in our church.”

We ran into Coy’s house and got the phone book up and I looked up Bro. Herbert’s phone number and dialed it.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Bro. Herbert?” I asked.

“Speaking,” he said.

“This here is Rusty Mitchum.”

“Oh Lord help me,” he said.

I looked over at Coy and Little Rusty. “Bow your heads. He’s prayin’.” Coy snatched the cap off of Little Rusty’s head.

“Hey,” said Little Rusty.

“You ain’t supposed to have a hat on when you’re prayin’.”

“Who said?”

“People who go to a church that’s got a piano,” Coy replied.

“What is it you want this time?” Bro. Herbert sighed.

“I didn’t hear you say Amen,” I said to him.

“Amen?”

“Amen,” I said, and Coy and Little Rusty said Amen, too. Bro. Herbert sighed again.

“How much money do you make?” I asked him.

“Pardon me?”

“What’d you do?” I asked.

“What’d he do?” asked Little Rusty.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He said pardon me, so he must have pooted or somethin’.”

“You’re pardoned,” I said to Bro. Herbert. “Now how much money do you make?”

“Why do you ask?” Bro. Herbert sighed.

“Cause I’m thinkin’ about becomin’ a preacher,” I said.

Bro. Herbert started coughin’. I mean he was havin’ a coughin’ fit.

“What’d he say?” asked Coy.

“Nothin’ yet,” I replied. “He started coughin’.”

“I bet he smelled that poot,” said Little Rusty.

About that time Bro. Herbert got control of himself. He cleared his throat. “So, you want to be a preacher.”

“Yes, sir. That is, if it pays pretty good.”

“I see. Were you called?”

“Called what?”

“Were you called to be a preacher?”

“No, I called you. Remember?”

I could hear what sounded like teeth grindin’. “You still there?” I asked.

He cleared his throat again. “Yes Rusty. I’m still there, uh, I mean here. What I meant was; did the Lord call you to preach?”

“You mean He calls you?” Then I looked over at Coy and Little Rusty. “You ain’t gonna believe this, but I might be gettin’ a call from the Lord.” Then, I spoke back to Bro. Herbert. “You think He knows my number? If He calls now, I ain’t at home. I’m up at my cousin’s house. You think I otta run home?” I hear another sigh.

“Rusty, He doesn’t call you on the phone. He calls you in your heart.”

“You’re kiddin’. How’s He do that?”

“Look, why do you want to be a preacher?” Bro. Herbert asked.

“Well, it looks like a pretty good deal. You tell stories on Sunday mornin’ and Sunday night, and that’s about it. And you get all that money in them plates they pass around.”

“I see,” he said. “What about all the hospital visits preachers make.”

“What do they do that for?”

“To comfort the sick,” he replied.

“I thought that’s what nurses were for.”

“No, preachers help to look after the patients’ spiritual well being.”

“Do they have to do that?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “And what about all of the reading and studying preachers do during the week, preparing for the Sunday services.”

“You do that, too?”

“Yes.”

“Readin’ and studyin’ just like in school?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that ain’t no good?”

“That isn’t any good,” he corrected.

“Well, if it ain’t no good, why do you do it?”

“No,” he said. “You said, ‘that ain’t no’….never mind.”

“So,” I asked. “Why do you do it?”

“I was called,” he said.

“Oh. Well then, if you talk to Him again, don’t give him my number, okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “I know I’m going to regret this, but is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, sir,” I said. “That’s about it. Oh yeah, I do have somethin’ else to ask you.” I heard another sigh.

“Little Rusty’s church don’t got no piano. Is he goin’ to the bad place? You know which bad place I’m talkin’ about, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, yet again. “I know which place you are talking about. No, he is not going there because his church doesn’t have a piano.”

I looked at Little Rusty. “You’re in the clear.” Little Rusty stuck his tongue out at Coy.

“That’s all then,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “By the way, I would like to speak to your mother Sunday at church.”

“Sure,” I said. “But don’t mention about me wantin’ to be a preacher. If she heard there was readin’ and studyin’, she might make me take the call, if’n He decided to call that is.”

“Brother,” he said, and he hung up.

“Now what?” asked Coy.

“Hmmm,” I hmmmed. “Oh, I know! We ain’t never been Eskimo’s. I wonder where you get blubber?”