King Cheese

Some people had lustrous, unworried childhoods that they look back on with tranquil nostalgia. They skated through school, blending in with the other unexceptional little turds and felt the warmth of normality and acceptance.

And other people had friendless farts of a young existence rife with daily mocking, the boredom of total isolation, and frequent visits from the truancy officer; whose job it is to snatch up terrified downtrodden youngsters from their homes and escort them back to hell in a mini bus.

You can postulate which type of child I was.

I wandered the school halls with one intention: Survival. I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t look at anyone, it didn’t matter. My very presence was an affront to those who held a standard of cool. Absolutely nothing about me was cool. I was skeletal, goofy, timid, and I probably smelled bad. I hated sports, had zero interest in girls, and the only music I ever listened to was from Weird Al Yankovic (seen him perform 3 times).

I didn’t even fit in with the nerds. Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, and anything else with “Star” in the title was dull as dishwater to me. I didn’t have a clique. And I didn’t want one anyway. I was a clique of one. By fourth grade, my parents started calling my room, “the bat cave”. I locked myself away and created my own world.

While the other kids were doing their marijuana cigarette drugs behind the jungle gym, I was making ugly faces in the mirror and prancing around my room like a woodland elf.

In retrospect, I’m much better off for being the weird creature in the corner rather than a popular child. Now I have friends, prospects, and a sociable demeanor. Now I actually enjoy being around humans and can get along with most people. And the kids from back home…. are still back at home, doing marijuana cigarette drugs behind the jungle gym.

Sometimes I wish that someone would have told me that everything gets better. It could have saved me from a lot of worry.

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