Outside.

"You don't know what 69 means?" This said to me by a few classmates on a walk back from the mini mart at lunch.

"Yea I know what it means." I lied.

"What does it mean then?" The fateful challenge, an inevitable elevation of argument.

"It's drugs." I went with what I thought was most relevant at the time.

(laughter erupts) I have outed myself. I in fact, do not know what 69 means.

The rest of that day in 7th grade was abysmal, for I was reminded again that I was different. I was on the outside of something all the other kids knew about.

How did I miss this. I couldn't help but wonder, sitting in math after lunch, consumed with the social exclusion I was feeling. After all, nobody will like me now, for not only did I not know something so obvious to everyone else, but they caught me pretending.

What if they figure out other things about me? As my adolescent armpits start to erupt with moisture, I now start to fear sweating through my shirt, thus making me like Billy, whom sweats all the time, and that kid isn't a part of any group.

...

This, as a 7th grade kid, after about 7 months in a school full of other, more advanced teenagers, was the scariest place to be. Not necessarily now as you read the words, but even as I write them, I can recall the feeling, right in the gut, of being different. 

No I didn't know what 69 meant, nor did I know what 420 meant and no I honestly did not care outside of what other people thought was cool to talk about. And now, I wish I could have been the kid to set the tone to say I didn't care, for I now know what assertiveness does and how it can shatter the waves set forth by older kids, consuming the innocent.

Me in class. 

It is only in a competitive environment that one has to worry about keeping up with the Joneses, or in my case everybody. It was only because I wanted to ultimately just be, therefore I pretend to care about what other kids did, all at the cost of my own childhood. No longer could I discuss cartoons and favorite foods, for the other kids wanted to talk about girls and football. I wasn't there yet. I was still enjoying what little youth I had left while at home, on my bed, reading comics. The same comics tattooed on my adult arms today. 

Fitting in was pure survival as a youth, and worse for a feeble self. I wanted to fit in, just to do so, not because I necessarily cared about the relationships, for I knew we had major differences. However, survival is staying a float in water, and I was learning how to tread. 

Now I laugh slightly as I want my Delorean to go back to 1998 and tell that kid, "Look man, you are going to try to fit in with them, but let me tell you, you are going to be a leader, your mindset and the differences you see are going to benefit you. Also, all these other kids are pretending. You see Nathan over there? Yea, he's laughing but he's scared for he too doesn't know what 69 is." 

But, in the end, I am grateful for the experiences. I am grateful for the hardship. I am glad that I was one of the last or told to be last to know what a derogatory number meant at an age where I couldn't have grasped the sexual complexity of it anyway. I am glad I dealt with being on the outside looking in, and most of all, I am grateful that I still try to see things on the outside to contribute back to those who feel/felt the same way I do/did. 

Castle-Broken, When appearances are everything, available on Amazon. Parents, body image disorders for your kids suck, it's good to learn about them and what they look and feel like. Adults who suffer from a compulsion of never looking good enough, this one's for you. 

God Bless.