A few things uou need to know:
My mother- who was a single parent raising me alone in my early youth- has never believed in baby talk. So when I was born, she started from day one talking to me and treating me like I was an adult.Â
As a result of this, I had rather high expectations of other adults from a very young age, and despised being talked down to. The worst was being asked sweetly and stupidly y over and over, âcan you say âhelloâ?â in a way that felt like I was an animal being coaxed into performing a trick.Â
In my earliest years, I learned that using certain words and phrases could convince new adults to treat me the way I preferred. So to combat the annoyances of being treated like a subhuman idiot, I began purposefully expressing myself with a broad vocabulary.Â
My mother started teaching me how to read when I was three. By the time I was five, my favourite thing to read was Calvin and Hobbes anthologies, partly because I loved tigers, but mostly because in every other book Iâd read, kids my age were written as stupid babies with no thought process or agency who nobody seemed to think of as capable of thinking or contributing. Calvin, though, was only a year older than me, and had a rich inner world, and was capable of speaking meaningfully and eloquently while still being a kid. Calvin was a kid the way that kids WERE, not the way adults saw us.
As a consequence of this, I think, I developed a prematurely warped sense of humour wherein- again, starting around age five- the funniest thing in the world to me was to approach adults and instigate conversations wildly beyond my age range. Like âoh, youâre slowing yourself down for me? Bold of you to assume Iâm not already four steps aheadâ.
I imagine this was probably very annoying, as I mostly didnât actually have the experience or context to fully understand a lot of the subjects I was talking about and was mostly just imitating the persona of a mildly disinterested and somewhat philosophical old woman, but I genuinely understood enough vocab to bluff around the gaps in my knowledge long enough for the funny part to happen.Â
My preferences to spend more of my time fucking with adults instead of my peers slowly widened the already-existing gap between me and the majority of my schoolmates, which honestly didnât bug me much because the two friends I DID have were way more fun than the rest of them anyways.  But I was probably a bit emotionally stunted by this point anywaysÂ
Cut to me, age nine or so. Annoying know-it-all, deeply ironic, and the kind of kid who would rather lick a carrot peeler than suffer through the torture of meaningful emotional vulnerability with any adult ever
Mr. Q, our fifty-ish something teacher, brings out a question box and a bunch of scraps of paper. Says he wants everyone to write down at least one question and he would pull a handful of them out anonymously to answer.Â
We all submit our questions
Question one. âWhat is a vulvaâ
Diagram. Clinical and age-appropriate response.Â
Question two. âIs love nothing more than a chemical reaction designed to ensure the survival of the species?â
Teacher clears his throat
âWell, um. I suppose⊠I love my wife. And I love my children. Or I would describe what I feel for them as love.â
[Dawning realization that I have trapped myself and everyone in this room in a Feelings Talk]
[Panic and stare directly through the floor until he stops talking about his personal emotions regarding family and society and shit]
[Pain And Suffering And Hell because this is, in fact, what I signed us all up for, because boarding a plane to Alaska means that you are definitely going to Alaska, no matter if it was a joke or not, because the plane doesnât give a fuck, because it is a plane and you are a moron]
The lessons in humour I learned that day have stuck with me ever since
You Can Press The Big Red Button Whenever You Like But You Cannot Un-Send The Nuke
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