Don’t I look enthused about my new Barbie? You can bet she sat on the shelf as I played with my Batman action figure. I grew up in the heart of Houston as an elite member of an exclusive bicycle squad. We cruised the streets in search of adequate climbing trees and vacant lots to claim as our own. I was no girly girl. I hated the popular kids and I wanted to be just like James Bond.

Above is a fantastic representation of the relationship I have with my cousins. We would always be thinking up some play to act out that our parents would be forced to endure. I am, obviously, the fierce one wielding a sword and sporting a vintage vest from the eighties. I often would pillage my brother’s closet for sweet new duds because I thought his clothes were the coolest. I actually have a picture of me in all of his skater gear, but before he took the picture, he recommended for me to throw up a gang sign. I probably shouldn’t put that on the Internet. I do, however, have one of me in all of my dad’s clothes.

To this day, I despise dresses. I would only wear them as a child at special events or when my mom put one on me. I would always envy the boys who got to wear cool bowties. At the playground, I rocked my dress paired with Nikes for full mobility and comfort.

I never really got on that bandwagon where I wanted to be like all of the other kids. I did my own thing and I was okay with being different. When classmates called me weird, I responded with a quick “thank you" and strutted away. As the other girls chased boys, I collected rocks and named them with the other outcast kids. Even in fourth grade, I knew that being different wasn’t a bad thing. I owned that shit, and I still do.

So here's to the weird kids. We're original. The popular kids may not have seen your worth, but without you, this world would be entirely too boring. Let's be real, we're the fun ones. Keep doing you.