There is one question every child is asked, from the moment they can vocalize a complete thought, until the moment... Until, the moment. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" It's a quandry designed to plant seeds of goal and resposibility in one's head, to allow one to begin dreaming and planning, without limitation. At nine, I was asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" A priest. I'm sure, many thought this came out of a strong Catholic upbringing. I knew it was because priests only had to work a few hours on Sunday and got a free house. At twelve, I was asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?".A lawyer. I'm sure, I was thinking of the help I could bring to those wronged by life. The divoree next door was sure all lawyers, like her Sonny Bono-looking, poor excuse for a husband, were dogs. Through high school, syllibi are designed and programs created to focus us on what we want to be when we grow up. As much as it leaves us open to explore all life's choices, it's also asd if we've been given a time bomb, attatched to a sun-dial, in a rainstorm. Sure, the bomb's going to blow. When? When do we grow up? Ask an intelligent child and her answer should be somewhere in the shamillion-katrillion's. Kids are smart. Their imagination makes them that way. After spending my "formative years" in Manhattan and Cleveland, I've learned one keeps his imagination or one will perish. The day those yellow dragons stop screaming down 5th, with beasts riding high atop become just another angry cab driver, rushing to make a buck is the day you should stop mid-intersection. When the tree-made archways, in a man-made park no longer trasport you to another dimension, where you're Supreme Ruler Of All And Everything, life is just another dull walk in the park. Without imagination there is no future. How else would a boy on a budget turn Easy Mac, Doritos and a can of tuna into the best 3AM, "Oops, I drank too much," microwavable tuna noodle casserole on Earth? How else would that same boy, me, Mr. Peter "Strap On My Sword And Grab Me A Fairy, I Won't Grow Up Pan, stand in a nightclub, normally filled with lip syncing drag queens and barely-legal boys and see a theatre, producing real plays and musicals in a unique space? As I sat in that space, Wendy on my left, John on my right, they listened as I spouted lofty goals for a theatre company that did not yet, but was destined to, exist. They didn't laugh at my Neverland. Wendy had never seen Peter so motivated. Peter told John that the thought of things to come scared him. A business? People depending on me? My Pan butt, on the line? Was it worth it? John turned to Peter and held up his hand to quiet his ramblings. "What do you want to be, when you grow up?". Without hesitation, Peter looked at John and Wendy and thought of all the pirates he'd battled and all nights trapped on a rock, tide coming in, looked at his new Neverland and answered. "Exactly what I am right now." And that, my friends, though he'll never admit it out loud or let it show in mind, body or spirit, is the day Peter Pan knew he was a grown-up.