My three-year-old birthday present was a welcome by the chicken pox.
I still vividly remember being in my backyard with all the other kids. They weren't allowed near me.
When we were in the kitchen, celebrating with birthday cake, I sat at the head of the table while everyone else was far away towards the other side. I blew the candles and I'm almost sure I wished for someone to scratch my back.
A couple years later, I recall staring into the bathroom mirror, thinking "this is what I look like?" I don't know if that was the day I became conscious or if it was a hint of reincarnation.
These were the years I used to lock myself in the playroom to watch Barney. Rugrats came along, and then The Lion King. All these made me believe that I could be something great.