This is who I really am.
When I was about 8, my mom took me to the Unicorn Theater in San Diego. This now-closed theater housed a bookstore in front and through a beautifully wrought teakwood door with trees carved into latticework, a theater where they showed cult classics and animation festivals. This time we watched the french film Wild Child (with subtitles! I learned that 'lait' means 'milk'). The film is based on a true story about a boy raised by wolves until the psychologist finds him in the forest. He domesticates Victor by cutting off his beautiful hair (cried) and putting him in shoes (cried again).
I was completely riveted. I celebrated Victor's freedom and feral family and mourned the loss of it. After the film I promptly whipped off my shirt, got down on all fours (arms and feet, not knees), developed a nice loping gait, and proclaimed myself Wild.
Here I am up a tree. Mom insisted that I wear the sandals and socks. It was the only way I was able to continue being Wild in the trees. I didn't like it, but there you have it.
I spent many weeks running around like this.
Actually my whole life......