An Alien on the Playground : A Gimpy Monologue

Bill is alien
Bill is alien (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

They say humans are growing kinder as society progresses, but children don’t grasp that finding.  Children are pure in their emotions and their rabid categorization of those different from them.  Mostly, when I was a child, I was the odd one out.  I remember those lonely days out on the playground, lost in an intense session of flapping, that the other children laughed at me and ostracized me in the jungle of school.  I didn’t say anything, I was just confused as if I were Spock encountering a new species.  How could they not understand the excitement of Godzilla?  But the other boys saw it as strange because I didn’t talk to them like normal boys.

It did not help that I was given “special” privileges unlike those children; I was taken out of class for individualized sessions with special instructors.  And those kids were jealous, and I suffered for it.  Being pushed around like a toy and treated no better than a five-year old.  I mean I couldn’t even grab my penis as a signal that I needed to piss because those children were trained in the social arts by their tribespeople; not me, my tribespeople did not know what to do with me except to leave up to the gods of educational institutions.

I wandered the playgrounds of elementary school alone in my head with a carton of milk in my right hand and my left hand flapping away because the world in my head was more colorful than the cruel and bland world I was surrounded by.  Not to mention that kids as mean as they were to each other sometimes were harsher on me for being odd and thus I was the alien of their upbringing.

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