I wanted to be a comedian

Daily writing prompt

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

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When I was five years old, I wanted to be a comedian. Not a fireman, not a ballplayer—a comedian. And it wasn’t random. It came straight out of my living room.

My dad used to watch Jackie Gleason, and I was glued to it right along with him. The skits with Joe the Bartender and Crazy Guggenheim—those were gold to me. Frank Fontaine playing Crazy Guggenheim had this goofy, slurred, offbeat delivery that just stuck in my head. I didn’t just laugh at it—I studied it. I copied it. I became it.

I would go into school the next day and do my version of Crazy Guggenheim. Same voice, same expressions, the whole thing. My teacher got such a kick out of it that she would actually take me from classroom to classroom so I could perform for other kids. Think about that for a minute—five years old, and I already had a “gig.”

That feeling—making people laugh, watching a room light up—it does something to you. It gets in your system early.

Then as I got a little older, I moved on to Bill Cosby’s albums. This was long before any of the controversy—back then, it was just storytelling at its best. I would sit there and listen to those records over and over, every single day. I knew every word, every pause, every punchline. Same thing later with George Carlin. Completely different style—sharper, smarter, edgier—but I absorbed it the same way. I didn’t just listen, I memorized.

Looking back, what I was really doing without realizing it was learning timing. Delivery. Audience reaction. The rhythm of a joke. The difference between a laugh and a big laugh.

I never became a professional comedian—but I’ll tell you what, that instinct never left. It shows up in how I talk, how I write, how I tell a story. It shows up in business, in conversations, even in negotiations. Humor breaks tension. It connects people. It makes you memorable.

And maybe that’s the bigger point.

A lot of what we think are “kid dreams” don’t disappear—they just evolve. They find a different lane.

I didn’t end up on a stage with a microphone, but in a way, I never really left it either.