I wasn't suppose to be this weird. My parents are normal, albiet a little boring, country folk from Oklahoma. They raised two normal creatures of normal intelligence, average looks and borderline personalities. I am the freak.
I knew I was the weird child early on. During my third grade winter break, I read Little Women. My brother and sister watched cartoons on the couch and ate too much candy.
My parents did what they could to trim my wild hair if only to make me more acceptable to the genearl populus. I played oragnized sports. I went to vacation bible school. It was a losing battle.While my classmates were writing their history profiles about Michael Jordan and Abraham Lincoln, I wrote mine about Anna Pavlova, the great Russian ballerina. While all the other kids played at recess, I sketched my fashion line for the fall.
I am not normal, even now...even after therapy, small town high school, being judged. I am just me. I make up my own words. I love quirky little houses regardless if the roof is caving in. I dress like I just left ballet class or like a boy. I write for a living (in the fashion industry oddly enough). My mother still tells me I'm weird every single time she talks to me. I've learned to take it as a compliment.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and the ability to express that opinion. You can't force people into boxes with definitions that you are comfortable with. Your freak can't be covered by religion, cool clothes or stupidity.
When you you jump to label others, is it because you really are trying to find a label for yourself?
I knew I was the weird child early on. During my third grade winter break, I read Little Women. My brother and sister watched cartoons on the couch and ate too much candy.
My parents did what they could to trim my wild hair if only to make me more acceptable to the genearl populus. I played oragnized sports. I went to vacation bible school. It was a losing battle.While my classmates were writing their history profiles about Michael Jordan and Abraham Lincoln, I wrote mine about Anna Pavlova, the great Russian ballerina. While all the other kids played at recess, I sketched my fashion line for the fall.
I am not normal, even now...even after therapy, small town high school, being judged. I am just me. I make up my own words. I love quirky little houses regardless if the roof is caving in. I dress like I just left ballet class or like a boy. I write for a living (in the fashion industry oddly enough). My mother still tells me I'm weird every single time she talks to me. I've learned to take it as a compliment.
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and the ability to express that opinion. You can't force people into boxes with definitions that you are comfortable with. Your freak can't be covered by religion, cool clothes or stupidity.
When you you jump to label others, is it because you really are trying to find a label for yourself?
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