We all had aspirations of careers that appealed to us when we were kids.  

My oldest wanted to work in a grocery store and run the cash register.  I think both of my girls wanted to work in bakeries, and my second son wanted to work at McDonald’s or Pizza Hut.  

My wife wanted to be a beautician.  

Not long ago, when we were all together, we went over these job choices again. I reminded them all about what they’d told me when they were younger, and we all had a good laugh about various things we’d said as kids.

Then one of the kids said “Dad, what did you want to be when you were a kid?”

My kids should know better than to ask me stuff like that. Most of these types of questions result in long, long stories that I kid myself people may find entertaining. Most of the time, I think I exasperate my family with detailed stories.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a cop from “The Rookies” and be married to Kate Jackson, who was a nurse on that show.  Her husband was the head cop, I think. I also would have settled to be Starsky or Hutch, as long as I got to drive that cool red car.  

I liked Earl Holliman on “Police Woman” because I would have liked to have worked with Angie Dickinson, who was a close second to Kate Jackson. I should probably say that I would have liked to have been “The Six Million Dollar Man” too; and yes, I had a crush on Lindsay Wagner, the Bionic Woman.  

We had horses when I was a kid, so I could have been Dennis Weaver on the show “McCloud,” but I wouldn’t have minded being Matt Dillon or Newly from “Gunsmoke” either.

But I had a practical, realistic side to me when I was 5 years old, and I would have gladly had a career working at a place called Deep Rock.

Deep Rock was a gas station west of town. It was this little stone building close to the highway, where we would pull in frequently and fill up a tank of gas for 36 cents a gallon.  We never got out of the car and went in, unless I was with my dad, who was a big talker and “loafer” who liked to lollygag at gas stations and shoot the breeze. 

I was glad to go inside with dad sometimes, because there were all types of treats in there: ice cream sandwiches in the little freezer, candy and gum, bottled  soda, peanuts and potato chips. I could almost always get a treat out of dad because it meant he could loaf a little longer.

When I was with mom, we stayed in the car. The guy who ran the station was named Darrel and he was a friendly guy who whistled, filled up the tank, and cleaned the windshield to a sparkling shine. 

Since I’d been inside the station from time to time, I imagined Darrel eating all the ice cream and junk food he wanted during his down time. I also thought that running the gas pump and washing the windows with that cool looking sponge and squeegee looked pretty interesting.

But the real reason I wanted to take over Darrel’s job was his four-barrel, high-speed coin changer.  

I was fascinated by that thing. Darrel would take a few bills from a customer and pump out quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies with the precision of some kind of money changing artist. I didn’t know how he did it, but I was always mesmerized.

So that was my childhood ambition: to run Deep Rock. And you know what?  I think I’d still jump at the chance if I was offered the same circumstances. Of course now, the crowd that came through that gas station would be coming for nostalgia, and the small amount of treats inside would be replaced by convenience store fare.  There would undoubtedly be fountain sodas instead of bottles.

But heck, I’d still see if I could wear that coin changer on my belt.  

Still fascinating.