What do you want to be when you grow up? And "I live to see you teach"

The first time my mother's oldest sister, my Aunt Mary asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I didn’t know what to say. I was only three.

“You can bet those three year-olds from Korea know what they want to be when they grow up.” My Aunt's thinking may have been narrow but it was global. 
Every visit was the same:

Hello, Aunt Mary.

Hi, Toots.
Her arm levitates. Thumb and forefinger come together and squeeze my cheek like one of those crane games. She twists and shakes my pained expression. My lips are contorted, my neck wants a chiropractor. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
I'm older now. I can speak. But my words are barely decipherable since I can hardly move my lips. I hope the numbness goes away before we're ready to eat. I waited all week for fusilli.
"I don't know, Aunt Mary" comes out "Y won't yow, Waunt Wammy."  She understands exactly what I said. And gets mad.
Mad, like when she switches from English to Italian when she's bad-mouthing someone so the kids don't understand. (Like we're interested or paying attention).

“What do you mean, you don’t know?  Get with it.  You can bet those little bastards across the street know what they want to be when they grow up.

After awhile, she didn't need to finish the question with 'when you grow up' because I had grown up.  
I was about to graduate high school and still didn't know.  A career in anything that involves smiling was out of the question. Due to damage done to my right cheek.
A few teachers along the way told me I should write but writing, as a career, was something that happens to other people. That’s what I thought anyway.

My mother used to tell me to try and work with my head and not my back. But creative writing didn't seem like something you could count on like accounting.

I would have told Aunt Mary I wanted to be a priest. It was worth more at Christmas and on birthdays - but priest was taken. One of my brothers grabbed it early. 
No one would have believed me anyway since I was kicked out of the altar boys for laughing at the sound of
Ad idem qui la ti fi cot. I still think a room full of boys saying Ad idem qui la ti fi cot - not knowing what they're saying is hysterical.

One day, when I could no longer bobb and weave as in my youth and my cheeks had lost their spring I said uncle to my aunt.
The Crane broke me. Or, did she. 
Name:  John (She already knew that)
Rank:   Nephew (Now, I had her trust)
Future occupation: Teacher (I lied) 
Mary was ecstatic.  I rope-a-doped. 
I live to see you teach

Later, when I was in college, my grandmother, on my father's side, asked me what I wanted to be.

I said teacher. But just because I didn't want to disappoint such a wonderful person. And I've been glad I did ever since.

She was so happy about my answer. As if it made her trip across the Atlantic when she was a young woman all worthwhile.

Several times in broken English, I remember my grandmother smiling and saying, “I liv-a to see you teach”.

She never did get to see me teach. I didn’t teach until years later when I taught creative advertising at Syracuse. The students said they enjoyed the class and that they got a lot out of it. 

My grandmother would have been proud.  My aunt would have grabbed both my cheeks at the same time until they hurt like hell and said, "Where's my kiss?"
But it would have been impossible to pucker up.