Maybe if I wish really, really hard, it’ll happen. Maybe the movies are right, and if I click my heels together, everything will be OK. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get my impossible gift this year: the impossible gift of a smaller heard. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t care what other people think about me. When you care about what others think about you, you’re just wasting your time and energy, but walking down the hallway at Baker Middle School and getting called “Fat Head” and “King Cranium” is starting to get kind of old. I’d like to be known by a different moniker than one that makes fun of the dimension of my head. Just once would I like to be like the other normal sized children, the children who are known for their looks, humor, athleticism or other acceptable characteristics. Just once I would like to get noticed for the good instead of the bad, or the right instead of the wrong.
Let me give you an example. I was talking to my father on a particular day about how I wanted to join my middle school’s football strength and conditioning came for the next school year. My dad asked if I would play football if I join, seeing as though the football team doesn’t make cuts. I said that it was always an opportunity. Then my dad came up with some cunning aphorism to say, “You could never play football! There isn’t a helmet big enough to fit your head!” Yes, you read that correctly. My dad, the man I’d looked up to, has too, convincingly announced to me this foolish escapade. MY DAD! I know what you’re thinking. “Why would your father say such a thing with this to his child?” Well, at first, the big head jokes stared off as just that – jokes, but after hearing it for five years straight, it’s getting on my nerves. Everyone has gotten in on the jokes. Even fraudulent teachers occasionally crack witticisms. One substitute even made a joke comparing my head and the Goodyear Blimp!
This year on Christmas Eve, I’ll be doing the same thing I always do. I’ll drink some hot chocolate, eat a few fresh cookies, watch some holiday specials, and go to bed wishing for my one true idea to be fulfilled. On the other hand, maybe Hollywood is right. Click, click, click. Nope, still King Cranium.