I want the endless housing plans, the houses that tend to morph together, I want the minivan, the kids in a gated school, upper class mobility. No more worrying about the future. The den with charming, yet inoffensive bric-a-brac knick-knacks on the wall. Going on rides on weekends after a stressful. The hustle and bustle, the feeling that everything is on my shoulders.

Not feeling like a renegade. Living life to its fullest - but in that coercive conservatism of the cul-de-sac. Spending money and not worrying where it is going. A girl, on the cheerleading team, softball, all the things a dad can love his daughter for. A boy, stretching that single into a double, being an "all-around" kid, scraped knees, youthful indiscretions, things I never had. Popularity carefully monitored by the musics, clothings, and movies of an era.

Being blissfully out-of-touch of what's hip. Fighting endlessly through middle-management. Regional supervisor. Life on the run, in the airports, Walla Wall, San Mateo, Reno, saw through the hermetically sealed path of airplane- car rental - convention - motel - bar - airplane. "My, that's a nice city" "Lets move their when we get older" Loving wife, comfortable touch, always there,

"Honey, dinners' done". Kids in liberal arts college, far away, compensating for receding hairline and increasing incoherence, buying a muscle car, what have I become, growing old, kids having kids, "don't get out much anymore", spoiling the grandkids rotten, wife dying, much too old (and male) to cry, stroke hits you, end is near, death comes.

Knowing I will never have these things frightens me. Lying awake at 4:30 wondering what the fuck I will do with a Latin major and wondering if the world would be better off without me.