And now we have a new career option

The brat, who, by the way has rebaptised himself to Krish Kapoor, aka Ranbir Kapoor who is his current GOD in capital letters, snuck upto me the previous evening and informed me that he knows now what he was meant to do when he was put down on the good earth.
I laughed. Knowing my son, I was fairly sure he wanted to be a film actor. After all, hadnt he just told me a few days ago that he was going to be Krish Khan for some days and then switch to Krish Kapoor, and he would return back to being Bruce Manral in a month or so. He actually seemed to have got it right. One should be allowed to try out names, rather like test driving them and then decide which names really suit us, and our personality and then adopt them for the long term.I for one, could think of a million names I would rather be than the dull, drab one conferred on me by the pater. But now, since it is sort of matching matching with the spouse's name, I'll stick to it happily. I'm kind of old fool romantic in that sense.
Coming back to the brat and his decision on a profession, he crept closer to my ear so that my eustachian tube was filled with his breathing. "I wil wisper in yer ear and tel yu. Don tell aneyone!!!"
Okay my love, what is it that you want to be when you grow up? I asked. You must understand, with my son, I donot even expect him to say the standard doctor, engineer, MBA. I have been through gardener, lion trainer in the circus, a magician, a shoe shine boy and, what was until yesterday, the hot favourite, a film star.
"I wantu be a journalist."
I fell to the floor in a dead faint. I held his smelly socks to my nose and raised myself. "Really. I is telling d truth. I will be a journalist wen I growed up."
This from a child who's idea of writing a comprehension is stringing together three three letter words into a single sentence and leaving the rest of the page blank. Son, I began, struggling to explain why journalism was not a reasonable career option for him. It isnt a very nice profession, I began. I didnt get into the specifics about why I quit the profession. I was quite sick to the gills of buttering up folks who had done nothing better in their lives than get great plastic surgery and attend more parties than they could count on their fingers for the week. I was also, in a vain way, quite miffed to be the one asking the questions. I would rather be the one with the questions posed to me. But that's a long way coming.
Son, you have to chase people for stories, write them out, and do a lot of hard work which isnt always fun. I then shut up, trying not to rub off my prejudices against the profession on him, since obviously he was google eyed with idealism. "No no," he squeaked. "I be a Clark Kent journalisd. I wear a chasma and a suit, and go in a phone booth and become Superman. Thas why I wantu be a journalisd. Den I can save the wurld."