Childish-Personal Narrative

Childish As I grew up, from about age 5-10, I had an imaginary friend, and, being a person who liked wolves, and was also a kid, he was promptly named wolf kid. He had claws that could detach from his hand and he could use them as a sort of swing, he had gray hair and looked like me, but he was actually cool. He became one of the biggest parts of my life. I was a rather fragile child, who was scared of the dark, the majority of people, and a variety of other harmless things. I was also chubby, multiplying my insecurities by the amount of fat squared to the donut power divided by pizza. This led me to put up a funny guy front, despite the fact that I'm not funny. I would just make the occasional poop joke or something else that had to do with butts.

“What's gay?”. I wondered. But that is a different kind of subject to be covered in a different kind of essay, so I'll move on. I came to the horrifying conclusion that I was being made fun of. “Is playing imagination really that dumb?” I thought. This was an odd feeling I was having, it was the first time, surprisingly enough, that I had been been openly not accepted for myself (with me actually realizing I wasn't being accepted). Then I started noticing things I hadn't before, things like the fact that no one liked me, and that no one like me having an imagination. I had become the weird kid in class. My family didn't help either, any time I would try to make up a game to play with my cousins, they would say it's unfair and tell on me. Now I probably was being unfair, but all I saw was that being original would get me in trouble. Along with the fact that the adults in my family themselves would make fun of me for my childish tendencies at the age of 8, I realized that if I ever wrote a speech about this in the future, I would need to actually get to the point of the speech now because I would probably ramble on for too