I was a weird kid.

That’s not surprising as I’m quite the peculiar adult.

In fact, the only people who may not know just how odd I am would be those who knew me only as a teenager, in those years when I tried desperately to be normal. Cool. To blend in.

Like the day my friend Margaret and I were playing HOUSE with our Fisher Price people. I had a 3-story mansion with six kids (including Joey- the little boy in the green shirt was always Joey), a mom and dad, a station wagon, and a dog.

Margaret, who I deduced was nicer than me because she gave up the stairs every time I came over, had a ranch-style spread with her People Family.

We played for years with our people, creating scenarios and just enjoying “family life” in our make-believe cul-de-sac.

But we were now 12.

And no one talked about what they did with their Fisher Price families in the junior high lunchroom.

So one day, in the midst of a make-believe lunch, a real classmate knocked on Margaret’s door.

We might have been innocent, but we weren’t dumb. We KNEW our playtime was far from age-appropriate so we quickly threw our “homes” into a box, grabbed a bottle of nail polish and a couple of magazines, and opened the door.

“Oh, hey, we were painting our nails.”

“Sorry we couldn’t get the door.”

Seems like we’d managed to swipe a layer or two on a couple of fingernails as we opened the door to make our story plausible.

I never forgot that because it was the first time I’d ever hidden who I truly was. And it left a very dark place in my soul, one that would take years to address in order to fully embrace all of me.

Because this is how God made me.

And who can dislike one of God’s creations?