Boy 1: I'm going be a fireman when I grow up, and drive a fire truck. Boy 2: I would just yike to be . . . some kind of arm. (silence) Mother: Um . . . Boy 2: Some kind of arm that goes "ding ding ding ding!" [aha. one of those railroad crossing arms.] Boy 1: But if you are an arm, all you'll do is, you'll just stop the cars from hitting the train. You won't get to eat things . . . or stay all night at Grandma's . . . or anything fun like that. Boy 2: I know, BUT, I would still yike to be some kind of arm.