When I was one, my mom decided my middle name was going to be "Alexandria", despite the fact that I am male.
When I was two, I learned to walk. I walked so well, in fact, that I managed to walk all the way up the top of the stairs. The trip down - however - was not very pleasant.
When I was three, I found out the hard way that I was allergic to ant bites.
When I was four, I got lost in the woods for six hours before I finally found a road. I waited, patiently, for a taxi. I live in Mississippi, and there are no taxis.
When I was five, I thought it would impress my friends if I threw a football at a bee-hive. My friends were impressed, but the bees were not.
When I was six, I somehow convinced myself that urinating on an electric fence would give me superpowers.
When I was seven, I let my cousin Sharpie my face so I would look like Darth Maul.
When I was eight, I fell off a jungle gym, broke both of my arms at the same time, and spent six weeks looking like a mummy.
When I was nine, I got into a physical altercation with a teenager because he thought I was staring at his uni-brow.
When I was ten, I had my first kiss with a girl at a pool party. I thought I would never see her after that day. Then I went to the family reunion.
When I was eleven, my dad gave me the sex talk using my Power Rangers action figures as visual references.
When I was twelve, I went out for football and dislocated my kneecap during our first practice. From then on, the team would rub my "lucky knee" every Friday night before a game.
When I was thirteen, I broke out in acne and effectively earned the nickname "Pimple Lad."
When I was fourteen, I got my first girlfriend, and we both learned that, yes, it is possible for two people's braces to become hooked together. Even in church.
When I was fifteen, I deliberately dislocated my kneecap to get out of taking an exam that I hadn't studied for. After the school nurse reset my knee, I had to take it anyway.
When I was sixteen, I lost my virginity to a girl whose father is the lightest sleeper in the world and keeps a baseball bat under his bed.
Now I am seventeen, and I realize that I am - in fact -a tortured artist.
I am, for lack of a better word, a writer.
This was thoroughly entertaining. You should be proud of your awesome writing abilities. I LOVED this. Great work.