Well, I was talking in a chat forum with a friend of mine and an interesting few topics came up about my history and I decided that they were just funny enough to share.
Back in about 4th grade, I was bored. Alot. So, to mix things up, I changed my name. Not legally or officially, but just because. One of the names I used is a character name from the Muley Stories, Kevin Rhea. Other names included Kevin Houchins, Charleston Williams III (which later became the name of a goldfish of mine), and probably others.
Well, the teachers called my mom into the school about this. They began delving into my life to find out why I was doing this.
"I'm just having fun," I would say.
"Oh, no," they would answer, "it's much deeper than that."
They convinced my mom that I needed to go to a child psychiatrist. It wasn't hard to do because, since my dad left when I was very young, my mom figured something was wrong because I would keep ALL my toys in my room with me, and I would stack my dolls and puppets in my bed with me. Something HAD to be wrong with me!!
So, for the next 3 months (a little more or less) I visited a child psychiatrist. She tried to get something on me, but couldn't. She would let me draw at a little table--I bet she hoped I would draw pictures of me killing adults or eating live animals! She would let me start the conversations about how I felt, and I would tell her things like, "Well, I'm angry. Big Bird tried to get everyone to meet Mr. Snuffleupagus and they missed him!"
"Why do you think you're angry about this?"
"Well," I would say, "after all this time you'd think the writers would figure a way to get Big Bird to meet Mr. Snuffleupagus because it happens the same way every time!"
(Side note, in modern times I have the same problem with the writing formula for 'Smallville,' the episodes always have a way of following the same pattern.)
She would try to find something wrong, and nothing would happen until one day she called my mom in.
"Mrs. Williams, you don't have to bring him back anymore."
"Why? Has he been bad?" Mama would ask.
"No, I've listened to him, watched him, looked at his drawings, read his writings, and all he is doing is having fun. He's a kid. Kids hold on to toys or come up with things to entertain themselves, especially when he's an only child. There is nothing wrong with your son and he doesn't have to come back."
And that was that. I never went back to a psychiatrist again. Her summary was exactly what I told everyone all along: I'm just having fun. They agreed I wasn't crazy.
But, oh, if they could see me now... :P
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