I’m Not Rude. I’m Just an Introvert.
Many confuse my manner with shyness or rudeness, but they are not the same
Whenever I ask my father what I was like as a child—whether I was difficult or hot-tempered, meek or affectionate, endearing or rambunctious—he usually tells me about my first day of daycare. My parents enrolled me into a formal daycare center when I was two. The school was within walking distance of our apartment complex in a neighborhood so heavily gentrified today that it is literally unrecognizable to me now.
My mother dropped me off, kissed me goodbye, and embraced me with promises that she would return for me in the afternoon. Then she set me to play with dolls and puppets on a cornered-off section of the classroom. When she returned for me in the afternoon, she found me in nearly the same position, playing with the same doll.
My teachers reported to my mother, who later told my father, that I overall had a good day, but they noticed I was incredibly timid and quiet, that I wanted to play only with the same set of dolls and barely socialized with or spoke to the other children. One child came to play with me, and I shared the set of dolls with that child, but when other children wanted to join us, I walked away from the group and elected to sit in a different section of the play area to be alone.
