It’s not for the weak; in fact, it’s probably better if you are born into it than formed into it.  That way, when the chips are down – and there WILL be times that they are definitely down – you will hold true to yourself and not break down into something that someone wants you to be.

Let me briefly explain my story age 0-17: I was born feet-first.  I did not eat paper as a baby or toddler; instead, I watched game shows like Name That Tune and Match Game.  I actually had a favorite sitcom: Alice.  I must’ve really liked Alice, Mel, Flo n ’em, because my parents told me I would write “Alice” with my fingers on the terrace door – before I officially learned how to write.  In kindergarten I ate milk and cookies while singing songs about what my name is; in contrast, when my younger brother and sisters hit pre-K, they were baking pies and making jellies, jam and all types of shit.  Hell, they didn’t even have Pre-K back when I was like four.  In elementary school I had zero friends; it wasn’t until 5th or 6th grade I had what I thought was a best friend until the muthafucker turned his back on me and joined the rest of school (yup, the whole school) in calling me Booger because allegedly some nosy broad thought I had picked my nose on the school bus and by the next day everyone knew.  You know it’s bad when girls not only can’t stand you, but want to pick fights with you along with the dudes.  In 7th grade, the name-calling bullshit stopped and I thought finally had a chance to dig myself out of the negative cool points zone… until I got into a fight with the most popular girl in the school.  I also was kicked out of the Boy Scouts for being picked on too much (expel the victim instead of correct the behavior – way to go Denmaster).  In eight and ninth grade I began rocking to Public Enemy and Ice Cube post-NWA.  Homey D Clown became my role model, to the point that I was bringing black socks (stuffed with other socks) to class in 9th grade and bopping other kids over the head with it.  Thank the Lord everyone knew I was just playing, and that it was 1992 not 2011, or else I would’ve been arrested and expelled.  In Spanish class, we got into a toss paper fight in which I swore the teach flung a few wads at me; once it ended, she blamed me for the whole mess.

And I haven’t even begun to talk about high school, where somehow in a school full of nerds I was still at the bottom of the totem pole.  It didn’t help that I had a major crush on arguably the prettiest girl in the entire 10th grade; I don’t have to tell you how that ended up for me, do I?  It was during this time where I first heard of clothing lines like Nautica, Polo and Ralph Lauren.  I dared not ask my pops to buy me such gear because, A. He was too cheap, B. He was devoid of any fashion sense whatsoever and, C. Even I wasn’t sure what the big deal was.  At the start of my junior year, I thought I got a good jump on my gear by copping a bunch of Boss, because that’s what kids were wearing… in the Bronx.  Unfortunately, my high school, located in lower Manhattan, consisted of ,oh, say 3000 kids, and only like 21 of them lived in the Bronx.  And because Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn apparently ruled over all fashion sense in the five boroughs, my Boss threads weren’t gonna cut it.  I should have transferred schools right then and there. 

Oh yeah, the two good friends I had in high school? One was kept on perpetual lock-down by his all-work-no-play father.  the other, a Chinese girl, started dating a man nine years older than her and he pulled some crazy mind control isolation shit on her.

I didn’t have a girlfriend until I was 17, and everyone (classmates, my brother and stepbrother, my dad, my mom, my aunt – literally EVERYONE) was in complete shock when I eventually told them.

So you see, I was never meant to really fit in.  I’ve longed since accepted this, and there’s been one great tradeoff amidst the years of social ostracism:

A free mind.
So what’s your excuse for being a non-conformist?

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