Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Girl Detective

For our launch, Double X approached a number of women we admire—actors, writers, Supreme Court justices, athletes—and asked them to answer the question, "Who did you want to be when you grew up?" You might be surprised at some of the answers. They range from guilty pleasures close to home (the domestic goddess Donna Reed) to Olympian heroines of ancient times (the Greek goddess Athena). Check out the answers from Amanda Peet, Dominique Dawes, Jane Smiley and others here [2] (or in slideshow form here [3]). We'll be publishing more responses this week. [3]

Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Supreme Court Justice [4]

Amelia Earhart or Nancy Drew in my grade school dreams; Renata Tebaldi, Maria Callas, Joan Sutherland, or Beverly Sills in young adult reveries. Having grown up in the Joe McCarthy era (early 1950s), when our country was losing touch with its most fundamental values—the right to think, speak, write without government oversight—I was moved by lawyers who stood up for the rights of others.

Ranked a sparrow not a robin by grade school teachers, a career as a great diva was not in the cards for me. But almost all law schools were open to women by 1956, the year I began to study law. Of course, in those now-ancient days, many legal employers were unwilling to hire women. And despite high grades, not a single law firm in New York City was willing to take a chance on me. (Not only was I a woman, I was also the mother of a 4-year-old daughter.) So I worked at the law in other ways—mainly teaching and volunteering as a lawyer with the American Civil Liberties Union. What would I be today had I faced no closed doors when looking for a job in 1959? A retired partner in a sizable law firm! What seems to be ill fortune when encountered sometimes turns out to be a great stroke of luck.

Michelle Rhee, chancellor of D.C. public schools [5]

I never actually knew who I wanted to be until I was older. My parents say I was always more focused on what I wanted to do. My dad (a doctor) often took me to the hospital for his weekend rounds, and I loved to be at the nurses' station. Everybody was constantly moving, and I loved the energy and effort of the staff so much that I pretended I worked there.

When I started teaching, I was not driven by a long-term plan but by the challenge of producing results with kids who had been written off as unable. I loved getting them fired up to show what they could learn and do. It sparked a deeper interest in education, and I wanted to do bigger work with school systems where kids weren't getting what they needed. But even then I didn't see myself running a school system. (When I met Mayor Fenty [6] and saw how committed he was to real reform, I changed my mind.) What I love about my work now is that it takes that same high energy, shared effort, and purpose that I loved about hospital visits with my father.

Judith Martin, Miss Manners [7]

One day when I was a little girl with blonde ringlets, my father said, "I can picture you as an old lady, wearing high collars and a bun and tyrannizing over future generations."

And I thought to myself, "My daddy understands me."

Linda Greenhouse, journalist [8]

Catherine (Cassie) Mackin was a pioneer female journalist whom I met during my senior year in college, when she was the only woman in her Neiman Fellowship class at Harvard. She was a Washington correspondent for Hearst newspapers at the time, still in her 20s, blonde, beautiful, tough, and smart. I had never met anyone like her. Although she was not even 10 years my senior, she was worlds ahead in every way that mattered to me. Generous with her time, she allowed me to keep in touch as she moved to television, becoming an admired political correspondent for NBC. I last saw her when we were both covering James Buckley's 1976 campaign for the U.S. Senate from New York. She was still blonde and beautiful, and gave me an oddly chilling piece of advice. "Have a family," she said. "Don't be an old maid like me." She died of cancer six years later, at 42.

Margaret Atwood, writer, The Penelopiad [9]

My aunt claimed that I announced at age six that I was going to be a writer. Indeed I did write a novel—it had chapters, illustrations, a cover with a title, and an author's name—all you'd wish for in a novel, except that the plot was slow in starting. The heroine was an ant, and she had to go through the egg, larva, and pupa stages before she could grow legs and perform any actions. I don't recommend this plan.

However, I soon gave up writing and took to drawing. At first my drawings were of girls who lived with wolf packs and other forms of animal life. Then they were of glamorous women with very high heels, elbow-length gloves, slinky cocktail dresses, and cigarette holders. Then I got serious about my Art and graduated to oil paints. My paintings were of oranges in bowls. They were not successful.

In my first year high school we had a guidance textbook to help us choose our future careers. The 1952 version of adult life for females was not inspiring: I could be a nurse, a grade-school teacher, an airline stewardess, a secretary, or a home economist. That was it.

I chose "home economist," not because I wanted to be one, but because that was the most lucrative. I should have taken secretarial sciences-then I would have learned touch-typing, a skill I've never mastered. I still use four fingers.

Credit: Mark Wilson [10]/Getty Images