For The Kid Who Skipped Childhood

I wasn’t a neglected, abused, or impoverished child. But I just skipped childhood, treating it like an optional update that I declined to install.

Growing up, we had a roof, rotis, and two functioning ceiling fans. No major trauma. Just me — a hyper-aware, rule-following, socially self-censoring child who walked into primary school like I was applying for India’s Union Public Service Commission.

Games? No, Thank You.

While other kids lost their minds over “UPS-bets” and secret chalk wars during class, I stood back — arms crossed, eyebrow raised — thinking, “How utterly undignified.”

We had lunch breaks for eating, not shrieking over pieces of string. Why were people running? Was someone chasing them? If not, then why behave like a mob?

I never jumped on Mickey Mouse rides, even when they came to town, because I believed anything that involved screaming publicly was a direct attack on my personal brand.

Pleading? Never.

“Please, Papa, buy me that toy!” That was a sentence I never said.

Once, I asked. Maybe twice. But beg? Never. Even as a child, I found pleading humiliating. Respect was my currency, and I guarded it like a miser.

Group Activities? I’ll Be In The Corner.

Once, in school, we all pooled our money to celebrate our teacher’s birthday. I contributed the most — ₹100. When it was time to distribute cake to other classes, the teacher asked, “Who wants to go?” And all the kids leapt up–except for me. I stood in a corner, convinced dignity would get me picked. 

It didn’t. The kid who contributed zero went. And so, I remained dignified — and cakeless.

“Teacher’s Favourite” (AKA Backup Mule)

I was the emergency human every time someone else failed. A classmate is late? I’m sent to fetch his question paper — mid-exam — wasting 20 minutes of my own time. Still finished it. Still topped it. Every assembly? I served as the backup. A kid stumbles? I get the mic.

Someone forgets the pledge? I recite it internally, forget their speech, and I prepare one on the spot and recite in their place. Forget their thought; I replace them on the spot, ready to take over like a miniature spokesperson for discipline.

Childhood Joy? Sounds Messy.

As a child, I  never the child splashed water. I knew I wouldn’t enjoy it. Instead, I’d stand on the edge of fun, folding my arms, waiting for people to “settle down.” Water parks, birthday parties, screaming games, silly songs — all looked like unnecessary chaos wrapped in potential humiliation.

The Real Reason

No one told me to be this way. I didn’t worry about being “childish.” To me, it felt risky, embarrassing, and beneath the standard I held myself to.

While other kids jumped, I  calculated. While others asked, “Can I?”, I wondered, “Should I?”

I’ve always been a little top people-aware, so focused on making sure I didn’t trouble adults on any matter. 

And still — I don’t regret it. Not because I don’t recognize what I missed, but because that wasn’t me. Not then and not now.

Final Thoughts

I wasn’t the loudest, funniest, or most carefree kid. Instead, I followed every rule – even when no one looked. I didn’t lose my childhood. Instead, I  filed it away like paperwork I couldn’t emotionally justify. And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.