I’m a weird dude – not torturing animals or lighting random fires weird, but I’ve used to think my brain was broken. It used to be a problem. I would blame it on shyness or being too hard on myself or the fact my mom decided to hold me back in kindergarten (she meant well). I mean, I could have easily accepted that this little, round, shiny metal disk was 10 cents and that disk made out of a different metal was just one cent and go back to running amok outside, but my six year-old self needed to know the who, what, when, where, and WTF of these seemingly arbitrary values and materials. And then, I got held back… in kindergarten. I knew my coloring, gluing, napping, and general playing skills were on point at that point in my life. The only thing that was different was my incessant questioning. For the first time in my life, I felt like a weirdo, and weirdos don’t get to go on to first grade. So, I did what most young outcasts do. I hid whatever kept me from joining the reindeer games. I just wanted to be like everyone else.
The questions stopped. I progressed through the grades like everyone else. I regurgitated things so well it appeared like I was smart. But deep down inside I knew I was still weird, and if that ever got out, I would be in the seventh grade forever.
(I think I going to continue this with the next writers prompt that starts with X. I just want to cross off this blog task from my to-do app. I know – weird.)
AllThingsAwesomeAccordingToMike 