It was Kindergarten, and everyone wanted that eyepatch. They were five years old and imagined themselves to be pirates and swashbucklers like they had seen on tv. But I was the one actually forced to wear it—because I was a spazzy little crosseyed retard kid.
The other little kids wanted a chance to feel like a real pirate, to look cool. I on the other hand have to tell you, there was nothing I wanted more in those days than to be rid of the encumbrance that was strapped onto my face each morning before starting my school day. It was a nuisance, and I hated it. So much so, in fact, that the doctor decided it more effective to instead have an eyepatch-shaped band-aid adhered onto my eye socket—to ensure it wouldn't be easily removed. I went from having an annoying strap on my face to a glued-down eye socket cover.
While all the kids in class were, unbeknownst to me, running up to the teacher with, "how come I can't have an eyepatch?" I was likely busy thinking, "why do I have to wear this eyepatch?"
Yeah. Even as a kid the grass is greener on the other side.
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