Fireworks, Friendships & and Feeling “Different”
As a young child, I remember being really excited to go to see the fireworks every year. Watching the emotionally powerful parade of colors dancing around in the sky to the beat of the roaring booms from the firework shell exploding in the air. I watched the beautiful artwork being made through the use of different types of fireworks, the careful timing required during the launch to sync the explosions up with music, and the sheer imagery of people gathering in mass to celebrate the simple fact they were free. I remember noticing all of these beautiful things as a small child, being amazed at what I saw, and not knowing how to communicate any of it. As I grew older and began experiencing problems with the sounds of fireworks explosions because of my Neurodivergency, I began to feel alien. This is not, however, the first time I’ve felt alien in life.
In Elementary school, I was not very popular. Often, while trying to play with other kids, their imagination would be lost to me. I would try to play “army soldier” with them during recess, but the fact that no actual bullets were flying around meant that it was hard to hold people accountable as to whether or not they were actually “dead.” Visualizing the fake scenario in my head was practically impossible because I could not guarantee that my interpretation of the simulation was the same as everyone else’s interpretation. My peers’ child-like imagination allowed so many other kids to simply not care about the rules of the game. I would think I “shot” someone in the back, and thus, gained a point, but they could also argue that I “missed” them. There was no system to determine who was correct and who was lying. They did care about the logistics of playing a competitive game without any ability to hold other people accountable to the rules. This meant that I was simply slowly phased out of that friend group. There were a lot of social trends during Elementary school that I never fully understood but tried to take part in to “fit in” with the cool kids.
For example, for a few months during first grade, my school had a machine that you could buy scented pencils from. The pencils were about $1.75 a pop, so they weren’t expensive (especially considering the average pencil costs around $2.50, depending on the quality, brand, and where you purchase it from), but the fact that they didn’t write all that well made stit difficult for parents to justify giving kids $2 in quarters every day to spend on these stupid pencils. The fact that there was monetary value attached to them, added to the limited number of pencils in the machine, on top of the novelty of a writing utensil a student uses on a daily basis suddenly could smell like flowers–I understand, in retrospect, why they became a trend for several months. At the time, though, as an eight-year-old child, I didn’t understand this. I was confused why so many other children wanted these pencils even though the smell only lasted the first twenty minutes after opening the package and would stop writing once sharpened.
I didn’t want to be “not cool” though, so I purchased as many of those stupid, useless pencils as my parents permitted me to buy. I saw all of the popular, neurotypical children had a huge stockpile of pencils, and I thought that once I was able to gather enough pencils of my own, then I, too, would be able to make friends. A few months passed and I noticed the hype around the scented pencils starting to quiet down. Excited by the opportunity, I invested all of the remaining quarters I’d collected from doing chores into buying every other student’s scented pencil at a lowered rate than the machine offered. Now owning the biggest collection of scented pencils in the elementary school, I approached the popular kids’ table. “Finally,” I thought, “I’ve put all of this time and energy into this, and it’s going to pay off. I’ll finally have friends.” I sat down at the table, pencils in hand. Finally, I felt like I had earned my spot. I thought I had completed all of the social parameters required. Then I noticed everyone at the table giving me funny looks.
The cool kids in first grade weren’t mean. They tried their best to make me feel wanted and welcome, but I could tell that there was still something different about the “cool kids” environment when I watched from afar in contrast to when I was trying to be a part of the group. It was quieter. More tense. Awkward. The other kids didn’t know how to communicate with me, or vice versa. Imagine a radio. Sometimes, a signal starts to get kind of weak, you can start to hear muffled, mostly intangible sounds from other stations. That’s kind of how it felt. No matter how many conversations I had with my much more popular cousin or how many hundreds of questions I asked, I just couldn’t seem to understand how to start speaking at the correct frequency.
Eventually, I gave up trying. I stopped seeking out friendships. Instead, I let people flock to me as I began doing my own thing. To be honest, this is probably the best thing I could have ever done because suddenly, wouldn’t you know it, I began creating some true connections with like-minded individuals. As I entered fourth and fifth grade, I met some other kids who also were outcasted by most of the school’s social society. After going my whole life feeling alone and misunderstood, I finally began to grasp what it felt like to feel heard.
A YouTuber I watched as a kid named Matthias once gave some of the best dating advice I’ve ever heard: Just do your own thing, and eventually, you’ll find the one for you. While this is solid advice for finding a potential romantic partner, I think it’s equally important for finding a good friend. For someone to want to be friends with you, they have to notice you. You have to stand out from the rest of the crowd. Why should they be friends with you over the guy standing next to you?
Because there is something about you specifically that makes you unique. It could be your work ethic, worldview, sense of humor, shared hobbies, or something else entirely, but there is something about you that makes you different. If you are constantly chasing other people and molding yourself to fit their definition of “cool,” you will never find your own. You’ll never find what makes YOU cool. Everyone will tell you that to make friends, you have to “fit in” with everyone else, but I’m here to tell you that it’s actually the complete opposite. You want to form true friendships, not fake relationships developed out of awkwardness and fear. If you want to make real friendships that will last for years and years, you need to figure out who you are, what makes you different, and how those differences mix together with one another to make you the beautiful person you are. Once you find what makes you so beautifully different, wear those like a badge of honor. Don’t try to hide them or mask them. Show them openly with pride and joy. That’s the only way you can know that your friendships are real. That’s the only way you will know people like you for you, and not the mask you wear.
And so, when I became a teenager and began feeling overwhelmed more often by loud noises, I already knew how to deal with this. Being a responsible (and legal) gun owner, my dad always had extra hearing protection in the garage that I could borrow. And so, I started wearing headphones while completing tasks like vacuum cleaning, mowing the lawn, and watching the fireworks on July 4th. That last one was probably the hardest to justify to my parents. Because watching fireworks during Independence Day is considered a social event, it was seen as rude or strange to weird hearing protection. While it helped with my disposition to loud noises, talking to me during the fireworks show was basically impossible. I, once again, felt alienated because of my differences.
When I turned 16, I stopped going to see the fireworks altogether because staying alone in my room, away from society, was easier than being open about being different. Playing video games alone in my room while the rest of my friends and family was draining and confusing. I wanted to be different, so I thought that removing myself from these social expectations would make me happy. There is nothing more “different” than sitting alone in your room while everyone else is having fun, right? But I wasn’t happy. I was just alone, sad, and trapped. After avoiding the show for 3 whole years, I decided enough was enough. I was going to go out to the fireworks show, I was going to spend time with friends and family, and I was going to have fun. After borrowing some hearing protection from my roommate and dressing up in the colorful clothes I owned to further accentuate my differences, I headed toward my parent’s neighborhood.
Fear and anxiety flooded my mind:
"How will I explain to my parents why I'm wearing giant headphones?"
"Will other people around be staring at me?"
"What is my grandma going to say when she sees me?"
To my surprise, my family was much more accepting than they were a few years ago. They asked me what the heck was on my head, but after I told them about my experience with Hypersensitivity and explained that wearing headphones made things easier for me, they said “Oh, okay,” and moved on with another conversation. My little brother even held my hand during the fireworks because he wanted to make sure I felt safe.
While the fireworks painted the sky with color, everything became so clear: It doesn’t matter what people think about me. It didn’t matter if I’m a bit alien from everyone else. It doesn’t matter that the neighbor’s children kept giving me strange looks. I’m glad that I’m different. I’m glad I can be an example to that child that not everyone is the same, and that’s okay to be open about your struggles. I’m glad I’m not normal. Who WANTS to be normal? Who wants to be a part of the crowd? Everything I had learned about friendships and being unique as a child suddenly made sense to me in other contexts as well. To be happy is to be yourself. You’re never truly going to feel happy or confident until you’re able to live life on your own terms. Forget about the “cool kids” in school or the alienation you get from wearing hearing protection. The only person who can define what being “cool” or “happy” or “normal” looks like for you, is you.
Sources:
Neurodivergent People Share Their Pandemic Experience (verywellmind.com)
How much does 1 pencil cost? – Arew
