I was reminded of this less-than-sanitary pastime while hunting for a pair of socks this morning. After digging around in the hamper, I sat down on the bed.
'What?' My knuckles had started to bleed. The realization slowly hit me: In my repeated dives into the depths of the plastic clothes bin, I had scraped my knuckles raw. Serves me right for not helping fold the laundry...
[NB: The above photo would have been more impressive if I hadn't washed my hands earlier. But unlike my fellow classmates of years gone by, I do practice certain levels of caution with biohazardous materials.]
Don't get me wrong: I really enjoyed my few years of public school. But not because of the socialization I had missed while homeschooled. If anything, I was secure enough in myself to avoid much of the madness around me.
That's not to say I was much more mature than my friends. I don't think I was. But I was confident in who I was and what I did. Perhaps overly so. But in environments where drawing blood is the social norm, my years at home prepared me to stand apart. The peer pressure of socialization phased me not at all.
Filmmaker, Writer, Surrogate Father