WHEN I GROW UP

Before I begin, I just want to apologize if my writing is not very good. As you know, since I struggle with spelling, I used voice-to-text on my mom's iPad to help me. Sorry if that’s not allowed. I just want to express my thoughts the best I can because this essay topic is actually really important to me. (Also, I have to whisper in case my uncles catch me saying something I shouldn’t.) Now, without further ado, my essay!

When you first asked us what we want to be when we grow up, my first thought was a doctor because I love the idea of taking care of sick people. I was actually House for Halloween. (It’s my favorite show!) I also heard they make lots of money, and that would be a great thing to have to take care of my future family. Anyways, I was all set on being a doctor until my uncles told me the truth about them when they saw me in my House costume. I didn’t know this, but apparently they are required to inject their patients with microchips when they "vaccinate" kids as a form of control. (That’s so scary! I’m so upset if my parents vaccinated me.) Anyways, they said real doctors who want to do good and use real biology are not allowed to because the radical elites will take away their licenses if they don’t do as they say. Fortunately, my uncles say things will turn around with new leadership in the government. But it’s going to take some time.

Anyways, after I found out the truth about doctors, I decided on teaching. I like the idea of helping kids figure themselves out, like you do, Ms. L. But when I mentioned it to my uncles, they said teachers make no money and only care about kids pretending to be the wrong gender instead of educating them the right way. They said that’s probably why I suck at writing and spelling (and math, too. I really need to get better grades, but it’s hard sometimes with all the loud noises in my apartment that I told you about when you asked me why I’ve been wearing the same clothes to school every day).

Anyways, I know what my uncles say sounds mean, but I feel like they’re just being honest and open like you encourage us to do. By the way, I think you went to school with my uncle Bruno. He says, “What’s up?” and asked me if you got a man. I told him I didn’t see a ring on your finger, which is why I asked you to play pattycake with me. It was my secret way of seeing if you have a ring because my uncle kept bugging me. Anyways, I’m sorry for being sneaky, but if it makes you feel better, I can let you in on a secret about Uncle Bruno. I overheard him tell Uncle Tank that you still got “junk in the trunk” when he zoomed in on your profile picture on Instagram. What is “junk in the trunk” by the way?

Anyways, after much consideration, when I grow up, I want to be—drum roll, please—a landlord. But not just any landlord, I want to be the best. The idea first came to me when my uncle Tank (who you also went to school with) told me that land is the most valuable thing a person can have. (He also says, “What’s up?” by the way.) If I am the lord of the most valuable thing a person can have, then I can have lots of money to do all sorts of things. I can buy things for everyone I love and let them live on my land for free.

Uncle Tank broke it down for me after he came back from a group interview for a beverage company. He said renting is for losers, and if you can be their owner, their money becomes your money, which makes you a winner. I want to be a winner because “what’s the point of living if you lose all the time?” That’s what my mom’s brother, Fernando, used to always ask before he passed away. He actually left an essay behind when my mom found him in the garage, but my parents wouldn’t let me read it. All I know is my two uncles said Fernando was a little p-word, a-word, b-word for taking the easy way out. I miss him lots because he used to buy me ice cream. Fun fact, he was actually the uncle that introduced me to House.

Anyways, another big reason why I want to become a landlord is our neighbors. My dad and living uncles—who, I should mention, only live with us temporarily until they find work, which according to Uncle Bruno “shouldn’t be for much longer when the administration finishes kicking out the aliens and gives Americans their jobs back”—are always complaining about our neighbors. They always play loud music, their apartment smells like cheese, and I just feel like they make my family get so stressed out that they get all grumpy. But if I own my neighbors’ home, I would definitely kick them out. Only good decent people like my family deserve shelter. Don’t get me wrong though. I feel bad for the homeless because they are often cold and hungry, like my uncle Fernando was when Mom found him sleeping behind the Round Table. (I really wish the workers would have given him a free slice, or at least let him warm up by the stoves, but I guess it’s really his fault for putting himself in that situation.) But homeless people really need to stop boozing if they want any chance at being good decent citizens. And it’s easy. Just don't do it. Lots of people just don't do it every single day. In fact, my parents never drink. Only Coca-Cola on McDonald’s Nights. But McDonald’s Nights haven’t happened for a while now since the homeless and the aliens drove up the costs of beef. I miss eating vanilla cones with Uncle Fernando.

And speaking of aliens, that is another reason why I want to be a landlord. I want them out of here. Even though I’ve only seen them in movies and TV shows like X-Files, I have nightmares about them. They come down in their spaceships, and when we are asleep, they take over our bodies like parasites. And because they are a different species, they do not need food or sleep. They can work longer and harder than us, make more money, and buy land that should actually belong to us. And then, they control us with the help of the vaccines, and we become useless and can’t get any kind of job. Or that’s what my uncles told me when they were let go by Subway and drank all my dad’s beers, which got my dad angry. I wanted to ask them if they could take me to see an alien in person, but I didn’t want to interrupt them while they were drunk.

I remember Uncle Tank saying, “America used to be fair.”

I asked him when that was because I feel like I could accomplish that kind of fairness as a landlord.

“In the old days,” he said.

“When we were your age,” added Uncle Bruno. “Things were cheaper then. Bigger. You could say, ‘I love America’ and not be called a Nazi. You could call a man a ‘he’ without being considered a racist. Can you believe that s-word? What the f-word happened?”

“The American Dream was something to aspire to, but now, it’s an endless nightmare,” said Uncle Tank before he and Uncle Bruno fell asleep on the balcony.

Sometimes Mom tells them to go back to school, or learn a trade before things get too bad like they did for Fernando, but they say college is a scam. When I asked my dad what scam meant, he said it’s when people mess with other people to get their money for free. And I couldn’t believe it. That sounds exactly like what I want to do as a landlord.

I want all the money. That’s my ultimate goal in wanting to be a landlord—make lots of money and help my family out. Especially my uncles. Because the country failed them so much, I can give them everything they have a right to. I could give them high-paying jobs, so they can have enough money to educate people and make things better for others. In fact, they are probably the smartest people I know. They always do their own research for things like medicine, science, history, math, culture, gender, power, stuff like that. In their free time, since they’re not working, they make YouTube videos on their channel, “Real Facts” to share their research with others. For free!

Actually, I hope you don’t get mad, but it would mean a lot to me if you show their videos when we have a sub, instead of old Bill Nye videos. Or, or maybe you can show their video when we do our section on Native Americans! My uncles have a really good video about them. They say the real ones are actually the Angel-Sanctions. The “Native Americans” we talk about in school were actually grifters. I didn’t know what a grifter was, so I asked ChatGPT, and I was surprised. Like “scam,” it sounded just like what I want to be as a landlord. Oh, and please, don’t tell my uncles, but I actually really love Native Americans that schools teach about. They look so cool with their feathers and bow and arrows. In fact, when I go to bed, I imagine myself as an Indian riding my horse and shooting soldiers to defend our land and buffalo. That fantasy world even seeps into my dreams.

It always starts the same. I’m with my tribe. There are hundreds of us. The girls make clothes while the men prepare for the hunt. I actually have a crush on one of the girls. She’s named Priscilla-Sings-At-Night, and she looks just like Priscilla from class, but please don’t tell her that. I’m not ready. Anyways, before I’m about to ride off, she stops me and puts a shark-tooth necklace around my neck. She says she made it herself.

“It’s for good luck and a symbol of courage.”

I tell her how cool it looks and how it means a lot because sharks are actually my favorite animals. I love their scary eyes and teeth, and how they’re always focused on eating dolphins and stuff. I want to be just like them. Anyways, she gives me a kiss on the cheek, I blush, and I ride with the other men to hunt the buffalo to feed our tribe.

But when we reach our destination, we find the field is full of rotting carcasses. Hundreds of corpses in various stages of death. Limbs torn apart. Heads chopped off and caved in. Brains smashed to a pulp. It’s blood everywhere, gushing. The dead buffalo stare at us with their lifeless eyes and their innards are exposed — bright pink and purple tubes that feel out of place in the green patches of the field.

The stench is something powerful. Like rotten eggs and death. We stare at them in silence like stones—too disturbed to know how to act. Then what remains of their eyes light up, and they shift their attention to us. Despite most of them having their mouths mangled or smashed to a pulp, they scream. Their innards vibrate, spewing blood and viscera, as if they are the things producing the scream.

We cover our ears with our hands, but the screams grow louder in our skulls. Some of us try to shoot the shrieking tubes with our arrows, but the punctured holes only make them louder. How should I describe the sounds? They feel like sounds caught between two stages — like they’re feeling the pain and suffering of dying without actually being able to die. So, instead, they scream and scream and scream to relieve their pain, but nothing works. I hate their sounds. I hate them for showing me something nobody should ever see.

One of our men, Dave-Who-Listens-Carefully, tells us to stop covering our ears and listen carefully. The screams become words. The sort-of-dead buffalo demand us to leave. They were here first. They raised families and made friends and played games and developed crushes here on the land. Then what’s left of them bursts into flames. The blood acts as fuel, and it spreads and spreads, and pretty soon, everything is inferno-like. We can’t take it anymore. The heat is unbearable. We are mad at Dave-Who-Listens-Carefully for making us listen carefully. Our flesh bubbles up and pops like balloons. The fire embraces our bodies like my mom wrapping a towel around me after a bath. We scream with the buffalo. We fall apart just like them. I regret not confessing my love to Priscilla-Sings-At-Night. I clutch tight onto the shark tooth. We want to be dead, but we remain burning. We are bones and guts as we fall beside them. Still alive. Joining the chorus of screams pleading for death. Help us die. Help us die. Help us—

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Oh, hey, Uncle Bruno. Didn’t notice you there.

“You say you want to die?”

No. I—

“You trying to pull some Fernando shit?”

No, sir. I—

“Bullshit.”

I swear.

“Then why the fuck are you saying that shit?”

I was just working on my essay for Ms. L. It has to do with the landlord stuff I was going over with you and Uncle Tank. It makes sense in the essay. It’s about—

“Okay, okay. I believe you. You had me worried. I don’t want you doing some weak-ass Fernando shit.”

Don’t worry, Uncle Bruno.

“You remember to be like your uncles who don’t give up, okay?”

I will. So, what’s up? Did you need something from me?

“Nah. Just wanted to see if you wanted to hit the cages with us, but sounds like you got more important things to do.”

Yeah, sorry. This is due tomorrow.

“All right, love you, bud. Work hard. Tell the truth. Don’t let the media control you.”

Will do. Have fun, Uncle Bruno!

Okay, he’s gone now. Remember to delete this part. Okay, okay, and here we go again. Three, two, one.

Anyways, I brought up the dream because I think about it a lot, even though I should probably ignore it. I just feel like being a landlord is my way of making sure good people always have somewhere to go. After I get super rich and own lots of buildings in a big city like New York City, I want to buy an island like that Fantasy Island show my uncles watch, and invite all the best powerful people to hang out and play games, and maybe even bring younger people to the island like kids my age now, to show them what the best people live like and give them something to aspire to. That would be the dream.

Then when all the fun and games have been had, I will be able to do something for the people all around me. That’s right. I will help my fellow Americans. When I’m done with the landlord and island stuff, I want to take care of America and run for President of the United States (hopefully, even win a Nobel Peace Prize to make my descendants proud of me and inspire them to believe in themselves and try their darn hardest like I did. Plus, I figure inviting all the best people to my island could help me get votes and I can help them with their businesses with my influence.)

And to help me with my presidency, I definitely want to use AI to help me with decisions and conflicts like wars and policies and stuff. I didn’t use it for this assignment, but I think it’s so important. My uncles use AI to help them write scripts and do their research for their videos. They even make some really beautiful art of them being muscular holding big guns and gorgeous women with ChatGPT. It’s just a tool if you really think about it, and I want AI and humans to coexist in harmony when I become President.

My dad doesn’t like AI though. He blames it for losing his job, but I think he’s just an old geezer and doesn’t see that robots and AI are actually helping him by giving him more time to spend on our family since he used to always have to work. But he just buys beers and complains instead of playing with me and my sisters.

Although one night I caught him in the living room drinking from the glass bottle with the brown liquid and having a conversation with ChatGPT about how sad he was and how hopeless he felt about losing his job and asked ChatGPT to describe what she looked like and if she could call him, “sweetie,” and “babe,” and if she could moan for him. That made me feel scared for some reason even though he was using AI to help him, but maybe it’s because the moan sound reminded me of that time Mom yelled at him for watching a video that had a similar moan sound. I remember her asking, “Am I not good enough for you? Do you not desire me?”

That made me feel sad for my mom. (By the way, I didn’t use AI for this essay because I know it’s against the rules for class. I hope you don’t think I used it.)

Anyways, in conclusion, when I grow up, I want to be a landlord to eventually be a great president and make America a really special place to live for all hardworking individuals, my uncles, my parents, you, the Native Americans, and all the buffalo, because I want everyone to live in harmony and not have anything to fight about because fighting makes me sad. I just want to make my family happy because, sometimes, I feel like they are hurting a lot and not sharing what they are feeling inside like I try to do. But whenever I try to share about my sad feelings, they tell me, “Deny everything. Admit nothing.” So, I try to admit nothing, but it’s hard. I want to share all the time. I hope you are not mad about what my uncles said about you. I wish you could get paid more because I think you could do good things with more money. If I become President, you can definitely lead my team of education! Thank you for reading!

Daniel, your essay is honestly incredible—it contains multitudes and layers that will deeply resonate with your teacher! I love that you ended up on wanting to be a landlord. That demonstrates an entrepreneurial mindset that will carry you far. I absolutely adore this idea of creating an island inhabited by the most influential people! I hope I’m invited to this exclusive club. In all seriousness, the island demonstrates yet another example of your business acumen—and might I add—it’s absolutely genius!

Your buffalo dream moved me. It illustrates your creativity and vivid imagination. I feel like I was right there alongside you and the rotting carcasses! I could smell the rot!

Lastly, what stood out to me the most in your essay was the fact that you clearly have a strong support system in your family that nurtures your growth as a person. Uncle Fernando must be so proud of you. He’s definitely smiling up from Heaven.

Once again, terrific job—good luck, Daniel! Also, remember to delete this feedback before submitting.