They called me a rebel. I used to think that was a bad thing.
To the teachers, I was the kid who always asked "Why?" instead of just saying "Okay." To my parents, I was the one who slammed doors and questioned curfews. And to my friends… well, I was the one who made the rules up as we went. I didn’t wear the right shoes. I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t laugh when everyone else laughed.
But this isn’t a story about being trouble. It’s a story about being different.
I wasn’t trying to be the “bad kid.” I just never felt like I fit in the mold everyone else seemed so comfortable in. While other kids colored inside the lines, I was curious about what was outside them. When we were told to follow the rules, I wanted to understand who made them—and who said they were right.
