Backwards Reflections

An interesting story from my childhood.

 

This story takes place when I was at the ripe young age of four. My parents both worked every day, so I spent a good majority of my time in a quaint little daycare called KinderCare. My experiences there forged my persona into the obnoxious little brat that I was. It was hard to be so different while at the same time so similar to your peers, especially in the world of 1994. The acceptance of those different from us has come a long way. I don’t mean to imply that I was a different color, religion, or nationality. Quite the contrary, I was an average dirty blond, brown eyed, white Caucasian. The difference that I’m talking about goes far beyond looks.

            Imagine if laws just didn’t make sense to you. That’s what the world was like to me as a child. I just couldn’t agree with the concept of conformity, not because I enjoyed causing others displeasure, but because the laws and rules which guided the tiny universe I lived in at the time were wrong in my opinion. I thought rules and laws were outrageous. How can you penalize someone for simply doing something they found necessary or possibly even enjoyable? I could understand that wrong doings should be avoided, but I thought good and bad were common knowledge. I wanted to not have a set of rules which told me what I could or couldn’t do, but rather a set of rules dictating what was right or wrong. I wanted my peers and I to be judged not based on the acts we’ve committed, but the effects those acts had on the people around us. If you hurt someone then you’re in trouble, and you should be punished, but what about the arbitrary rules? I saw so many kids, including myself, get sent to time out for breaking rules without causing any damage. My passive nature, along with my keen sense of right and wrong, was the only thing that spared my caretakers a swift kick to the shin.

            Now that you understand my childhood mindset, I’d like to indulge in one experience that changed me to this very day. At my daycare there were Velcro buttons that we used to save our spots. One would grab their name off the wall, and place it on patches of Velcro at each designated station. For instance, three patches of Velcro at the Lego station, two patches of Velcro by the doll station, five patches of Velcro by the board games, and so on. Also there was a sign in sheet with everyone’s name on it that the daycare ladies used to keep track of who was there and who had left. I noticed that they always kept it in the room, either on a clip board held by one of the daycare ladies or in a designated folder taped to the wall by the door. I quietly took mental notes as I observed the daycare ladies’ daily routine.

            I was very lonely. Sometimes it seemed as if I spoke a different language from the rest of the world. Ideas that other children would easily grasp like grammar or social concepts were beyond my comprehension, however such concepts as math or building a dependable fort out of Legos were second nature. None of the other children seemed to realize it, but I knew the key difference in thought process that existed between me and the rest of my tiny world. It was also to my belief that our Velcro name tags and list did not exist because we were there. With my backward way of thinking, I thought that I existed because someone had written my name down on the list, and created a nametag for me. I would always cause my teachers to give me surprised looks by making an unusual error in grammar, or by turning a pile of Legos into a tower that could be kicked clear across the room without even loosening a piece. However nothing compared to the looks I received after I spent all of my arts and craft time creating a name tag identical to my own, and writing the name “Zuthoma” on it. There was no protest, only puzzlement, when I hung Zuthoma’s new nametag up. Luckily for me, few seemed to realize or care.

            The next step was the hardest. I had to somehow get my hands on that attendance sheet so I could finalize my actions thus far by writing Zuthoma Requx in the proper line, therein bringing him into this world. It was simple, really. While everyone was out to recess I asked to use the restroom, but instead I cautiously approached the page resting in its folder, completely unsuspecting. I was the epitome of strange, but once I finished writing my new friend’s name down on the sheet I would cease to be alone, or so I thought. After my plan’s completion I returned to recess, feeling accomplished.

             The next morning I traveled with my mother and older siblings to KinderCare. Everything seemed to be fine, but Zuthoma never showed up. Maybe there was more to it, I thought. So I asked a daycare lady what else I had to do in order to bring Zuthoma to life, but she took it as an admission of guilt. My intentions were good, but yet again I found myself betrayed by the system as I walked shamefully to the corner.

            “Was it worth it?” the daycare lady asked me 10 minutes later.

            “I guess not.” Zuthoma Requx wasn’t really a name that rolled off the tongue, anyway. Next time my plans would be far more elaborate, and the name would be far cooler.

            Fortunately enough, my isolation lasted just as long as my belief that records dictated existence, which really wasn’t that long at all. I was always an outsider, but I was never mean or nasty. I was a bit arrogant at times, but for the most part easy to get along with. Elementary school came around and with it came friends that I’ll never forget. Today I have abundant good honest friendships. However one thing has yet to change, and probably never will, and that’s my backwards thought process. To this day I put my heart into understanding thought and human nature, and I owe it all to my good friend Zuthoma.

Reviews

[I'm his Muse]

That is an ingenious story and accomplishment for a small boy and a young man. I would have let you be Zuthoma. You are still Zuthoma, no one can take your inward identity away. You rock!