If the others were laughing, I did not have to join them.
Watching them play excited me more than making noise with the other children. I especially liked watching adults. I always listened for their secrets, pretending I was not interested.
Around the time I was about to start elementary school, I noticed how odd I looked. A boy who only stood a little apart and smiled—I felt I was making friends and adults uneasy. As a kind of play, I tried copying everyone. The adults all praised me, so I kept at it for a while because it was fun.
By third grade, copying alone was no longer enough to keep the people around me at ease. Every time I looked for a "myself" that was not there, I ran into someone. I became "the child who used to be obedient."
As an adult, I too put on a knowing face and lecture people.
When I threw that praise, I did not notice the other person's confusion. After the disappointment, it did not occur to me that the hope I had placed on them had left their own hope behind.
The child who only wanted someone to sit beside him and say "This is fun too" had become an adult who puts meaning on things from a distance.