” “I don’t know,” I would answer with a comical smile.
Or even better, “Pick one for me.” It’s a bit silly, but I enjoyed the simple satisfaction of being different.
I would look forward to this routine: every Saturday, when the big hand hit six, my parents would take me to Timothy’s, their coffee shop, and I would begin the day’s quest.
To my childhood self, Timothy’s was my bridge to Terabithia. Seuss’s topsy-turvy Thneedville; an acrobat, weaving words into webs with Charlotte; and a palace spy in Wonderland, fighting for my life in a game of flamingo croquet.
Outside of class, other students come to me because they recognize that I genuinely want to help guide them toward their own success.
When it comes down to it, ambidexterity means balance.
Similarly, much of who I am remains unnoticed at first glance, not because of insignificance but because of initial perception.
Most of the people who know me have no clue I’m valedictorian; I’m the kid making paper airplanes at the end of class.
Braving these adventures instilled in me a sense of invincibility that pushed me to tackle new experiences, even engaging in mischievous absurdities, both in this world and reality.
Draping myself in jewelry constructed out of straws and cup sleeves, I would unabashedly strut all around the café.