Do you remember growing up in Australia when Mars bars were thirty cents and when it was a treat to go under the sprinkler on a hot day? Do you remember when honey prawns were the height of exotic cuisine and you discovered your true talents through a double-dare? Do you remember when you thought you could smell the sun when it was so hot, and it was only made sweeter by the scent of freshly cut grass?

I also have fond memories of running around the wild Australian bush (read: the long grass and big shrubs in my best friend's backyard), with its vast mystery and beautiful wildlife. This passion was born out of wonderful school excursions to the bush. I guess they were actually parklands not far from the school, but since we had to get on a bus and go outside the town, it really felt that we were going somewhere. I mean, it wasn't like going all the way to the big city (Sydney, an unthinkable two hours away), but it was our own special wilderness.

My best friend and I loved these excursions and it wasn't long before we decided that the great Australian bush would be the scene of our brilliant careers. We were going to be bushrangers. Oh yes. We had it all planned causing endless anxiety for our parents. Of course, what we really meant was that we wanted to be park rangers, to take care of the wonderful flora and fauna, but to us, the ‘park' was the ‘bush'. It was finally resolved when I received a Ned Kelly book for Christmas and my parents told me everything.

What an ambition. At the time, it was a sensible dream; now it all seems a bit innocent and naïve. But, the misunderstanding over what we meant by “bushranger” notwithstanding, it was simple.

Is that what kids still aim for? I don't know, but I wouldn't expect so. That particular dream was almost 25 years ago, around the time that our first computer (which weighed around one tonne) required a massive black floppy disk just to start it up so it could run its black, green and orange graphics.

But that's what I expected had changed with kids and career ambition: technology. Kids actually take mobile phones to school now and write essays in SMS-speak. So it made sense to me that kids' aspirations are tied up in high-tech gizmos and new-fangled gadgets. I was worried about asking kids this all-important question – “what do you want to be when you grow up?” – in case they said “computer systems analyst” or something equally incomprehensible such as “xzyffghyzzi hjskeoofl hik”. When it comes to it, however, kids are driven by baser instincts.

Fame. Kids want to be famous. Technology plays a role: it spreads the germ of celebrity; makes it glossy and pretty and desirable. My friend and I also wanted to be superheros – our little gang was called “The Wonderkids” – and we had the power to see invisible people (years before ‘The Sixth Sense' came along) and defend the world from the sinister “Alphabet Brothers” (Mr A, Mr B, Mr C and so on… I didn't claim that ALL of our ideas were creative…). But now kids don't want to see invisible beings; the don't want to be invisible at all, they want to be highly visible and hang out with the non-panty-wearing Paris Hilton and her ilk. Sure, there are kids who still want to be doctors and fireman, but they want to be in a hospital reality TV show or fireman in a calendar. They want the glamour of the job.

But then I don't know what to recommend: famous doctor or famous robber? At least kids today have a grip on technology. Twenty-five years ago I didn't even have a grip on words. Parents, if your child is seeking to become Britney Spears or a doctor on the telly, give it to ‘em straight. All I can say is, thank heavens my parents were there to guide me or I'd almost certainly be writing this from a cell, with a cast-iron helmet on my writing desk. Such is life.