"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

That question plagued my childhood. Adults would look at me with eager eyes, awaiting some brilliant answer that they would oddly attribute meaning to.

Now that I'm an adult, I've realized that we ask children what they want to be when they grow up because we are always considering what else is out there. Maybe the perfect job is right around the corner and we just haven't thought of it yet. Heck, maybe the kid will think of it for us.

Last week, it happened. I discovered my dream job.

There it was, in all its glory, the job that would've haunted my dreams if I'd known such a job exists. On this beautiful spring day, in a park filled with children riding bikes and parents pushing strollers, along a path surrounding a swan-filled lake, my dream job came into fruition in the shape of an old man steering a dinghy in the water, yelling through a bullhorn.

"You are too close to the water's edge. Hokeypokey your butts five steps back."

I watched him, full of glee and wonder, as he powered his little dinghy from one side of the lake to the other, yelling at parents and children alike.

"Ducks drown in this lake every year. Ducks! Did you know that? A duck can drown! So what makes you think your child can't?"

In the ruckus from bicycle bells, family barbecues and ice cream trucks, this old man cut through the noise and spoke straight to my heart. (The bullhorn helped.) How did I not know such a dream job exists? This man gets to spend his days basking in beautiful weather, zipping around a large lake, doing something I love: yelling at stupid people.

"Swans are the most aggressive creatures on earth. If you fall in the water, you will be torn to pieces by a pack of swans. Is that what you want on your epitaph, death by swan?"

Instant obsession. I needed this job. I'd work part time. I'd fill in when the old man got laryngitis from yelling all day. I love being a writer, but from the moment I saw it, I knew I'd do anything for this dream job.

I yelled to the old man in the dinghy.

"Sir! Come here a sec!"

He ignored me, focusing on a couple helping their son roller-skate.

"Just one second. Please."

I needed to get his attention. I walked to the edge of the lake, the toes of my sandals hanging over the ledge.

Success! The old man turned his boat and made a mad dash in my direction, screaming into his bullhorn, "Step away from the water!"

When he got close enough, I yelled, "Where do I submit my résumé?"

The old man scoffed into his bullhorn. "You can't work if you're dead. Now back up before the swans get you." And he zipped away.

I remained undeterred. Daydreaming of a life spent outdoors on a boat, yelling at idiots, filled most of my week.

When I finally got back to the park, the old man wasn't on the water, and no one was filling his position. Ooh! Perhaps that meant there was a job opening!

I stopped by a park shack on the water and asked whether they knew where I could fill out an application to work on a dinghy, yelling at people. They looked at me as if I were crazy.

"You know, the old man," I insisted. "Working here last week in the dinghy. Bullhorn. He was yelling at people. I think I'd be really good at that."

"I'm sorry, honey," the park worker said to me, "but that job don't exist. You must be thinking of one of our customers who rented a boat. Wanna rent a boat?"

I left the shack, feeling both disappointed and bemused. The only thing cooler than an old man who makes a living steering a tiny boat and yelling at stupid people is someone who chooses to engage in those activities in his free time.

I know what I want to be when I grow up. When I grow up, I want to be that old man.

To find out more about Katiedid Langrock and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.