Pass the Grandeur, Please. No Delusions, Thank You
by Anne Powell
We’ve all had them — delusions of grandeur.
Even when I was little, everything was big and important. In the backyard, a jump rope tied between two trees was a zip line across an enormous chasm in the mountains. My sisters and cousins were battling evil, getting shot, being healed, crossing shark-infested waters, getting arms bitten off, and after having our arms reattached, doing it all over again.
Even with my dolls. It wasn’t just Barbie and Ken getting married for the nine thousandth time. They were going through some difficult stuff — car accidents, muggings, slapping fights between Barbie and another Barbie. And Barbie and Ken had passionate love-lives, before I knew what ‘passionate’ meant or realized that love-lives were not just kissing boys behind trees on the playground.
And I was always sad when we were called inside for lunch or dinner or the story petered out and Mary and Andrew just resorted to drawing up plans and shooting each other 20 times.
Things are a little different as a grownup.
Every time I think, “I’m going to do something great,” I don’t.
Now, I look around for anything big and important and don’t find too much.
But then, when I was little, I wasn’t looking for it.
I just went into the yard and did it.
