From the moment I was old enough to think for myself, I have known I was different.  For many years of my life I could not explain my difference, I felt confused and alone.  But I dealt with it and lived on.  After I had some years under my belt and I had seen the country more, it dawned on me that my difference only really stood out in certain places, and around certain people.  When I traveled to other places, I noticed that I wouldn’t feel so different. For instance, when I would go down to North Carolina to visit my grandparents, or when I went on a hunting trip down in Alabama I didn’t feel so different from everyone else.  However, I did notice my difference in places like New York and Boston, but it was always the most noticeable in my home town of Falls Church, Virginia. 

I had a pretty normal childhood growing up in Falls Church, but I still felt the difference between me and the other kids in town.  I began to notice it when I would be socializing with the kids in my neighborhood.  One of my favorite things to do with all the kids was play “Army,” as I liked to call it.  It was a simple game in which my friends and I would play with toy guns in the woods behind our houses and pretend to have great battles.  There was always one problem though; the other kids never had their own toy guns.  It always ended up with me letting the other kids use my guns because they didn’t have any. I never could understand why their parents wouldn’t buy them some, because toy guns were possibly my favorite source of fun during my childhood.

Another popular game that we would play in our o’ so plentiful spare time was “Cowboys and Indians.”  This was only slightly different from playing “Army” in that one side dressed up as cowboys, the other as Indians.  I always preferred “Army” because whenever we played cowboys and Indians, all the other kids’ parents would make them swear that the Indians would win or they would not be allowed to play.  Sometimes the parents would even stand out on their back porches and watch, yelling at their kids for letting the Indians be killed.  My parents even got an occasional phone call about how I was “prejudiced”--or some word I never knew the meaning of--for shooting the Indians.  It always frustrated me, I mean, I was already giving out my sweet toys to these kids, and then their parents pretty much ruined the game!  But I had no one else to play with so I had to deal with it.

Another time when my difference was very obvious was around the holidays.  Christmas was always my favorite holiday and I always wanted to share my excitement, though it didn’t seem like my friends were ever as excited about it as I was.  I always wished my friends a “Merry Christmas” but they would never say the same.  It was always unenthusiastic “Happy Holidays” in return.  I never questioned this because it was never a big deal, but it always seemed to me that my friends didn’t want to, or actually weren’t allowed to, say “Merry Christmas.”   

During the holiday season my family and I would always come together and decorate our house.  It was always a good bonding experience and we spent money and time each year to enjoy the spirit of the holidays.  Many of my friends’ houses were never lit up, at least not as colorfully or as brightly as mine.  My friends’ families would instead go driving around in different neighborhoods looking at other houses’ decorations.

My family would also go into downtown D.C. to see the nice Christmas tree set up. After that we would go by an organization for helping the homeless and give a nice donation of about 50 bucks or so.  Many of my friends would do the same thing each year, but instead of going to the homeless shelter they decided to walk down the streets and give out 50 single dollar bills to the various homeless people that they ran into.  I was mature enough at that point to not even ask why they did things so differently.

I continued living my life, never fitting in.  I would have football parties and we would cook burgers and hotdogs,  or maybe order pizza, while my friends would have parties to watch the Australian open and they would have a buffet of cheeses and crackers and other little finger foods.  I preferred the American grilling.

My difference finally became known to me when the last elections took place.  I distinctly remember a day of school during election week when I happened to wear a red shirt.  All of my friends and teachers were wearing blue.  I thought it was some sort of spirit day that I didn’t know about, but after many stares, glares, and looks of disbelief, it hit me.  Like a train hitting a blind cow who decided to stop on the middle of the tracks it hit me.  I was a Falls Church republican, and I was darned proud.