My older sister Brittany and I had been pestering our parents for months on end about adding a new member to the family, a dog. We already had two Labradors at the moment, Luke John Jr, a yellow lab whose eyes could make you melt, and Hunter, a black lab we had adopted at 6 months. But little did we know our parents had already secretly begun looking and visiting breeders.

Running around my room like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to find the ideal outfit resulted in graphic t-shirts, multicolored hoodies,jeans, and numerous pairs of shoes scattered along my bedroom floor. Finally all dressed and ready, about to head out to catch my bus, I look back at the mess I have made, which now resembles the aftermath of a tornado. Same old routine day after day- wake up, decide what will look good to others, sit on the bus with my headphones filling my ears with music, trying to drain out the thoughts within my head telling me everyone hates how I look.  

Running down the stairs on just another ordinary, Christmas morning, my sister and I plopped down on the floor next to the Christmas tree. Tree lights shimmering, Christmas music playing faintly in the background, the smell of my mom’s hazelnut coffee filling the air. Presents splayed across the ground and a slight...whimper? Coming from inside a wooden Budweiser box next to the tree. My other two dogs, tails wagging, kept nudging the box trying to hint to us that we should open that box first. Inside was an eight week old puppy.  
           
But today was is of the worst, I got on the bus and started playing Really Really by Kevin Gates, but no matter how loud I made it, my thoughts seemed to conquer the lyrics. What if I look terrible, I didn't get to check and see if my eyeliner looked good in different lighting. My hair is so curly. Everyone knows I always straighten it. Oh god someone is going to point it out. I knew I should have woken up earlier to make sure everything looked good. My thoughts were tearing me apart, and by the time we reached the school I wanted to go home. The bell rings and we all pile off the bus heading into the school. Walking through the halls with a fake smile on my face hiding my fear. With each step I advance I cringe, knowing people are glancing at me. What are they thinking? Are they staring, oh god I look terrible. I knew I should have gone out this weekend and bought the newest line from Aeropostale. I’m the only girl in last month’s line.

Logan Chase, our chocolate lab, now 6 years old is a big part of our lives. He has taught me personally, to make sacrifices and most of all, to not take things for granted. You see, Logan isn’t an ordinary dog. Yes, in a sense I guess he is just another mocha furred, brown eyed canine, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. He has a very protective streak in him. He has a soft spot for the family but he is extremely protective of us and isn’t a very big fan of outsiders or strangers who aren't part of the inner circle. This means he isn’t exactly people-friendly. Throughout my childhood I came home to animal trainers in the house, and each one always had the same response, “He is who he is and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

Throughout the day not only was I concerned about being an outcast to students, but to my teachers too. When lunchtime came around that’s when it all clicked. I was casually eating lunch with my friends, and may I say it was nasty taco day. Okay I'll admit we were a bit obnoxiously loud, throwing a few carrots across the table hitting each other in the head here and there. But otherwise a pretty acceptable lunch experience. Until our vice principal,dressed  in a charcoal black pencil skirt, and a pink blouse, and her  blinding shiny heels,approached our table. Of course we immediately stopped throwing food and put on the perfect student act. But she wasn't there to yell at us. She was there to confront us and call us out. She gently placed her hands on the table, getting to our level, but her tone of voice wasn't very gentle. “Why are you guys wearing black nail polish? Boys don't wear that and black is a bad color.” In that moment I wasn’t ashamed nor did I feel like I didn't fit in. I felt a sudden urge of anger boiling inside of me and my steam was about to blow. I felt assaulted, attacked, everything relevant to that, although the insult was towards my friends and not me.. In my head I felt like saying “What's wrong with black nail polish? Why can't boys wear it?” But I already knew the answer to my own questions. It was because they go against the common, so called ‘normal’ standards. God forbid someone is different. Someone always has to question their motive, whether it’s because they like it or because it expresses who they are.

Growing up I had to make the decision between the life I was accustomed to, or the new one with Logan in it. That one had many restrictions and sacrifices that had to be made. I could no longer have friends over, which caused many conflicts and loss of friendships. The simple things like having someone accompany you inside your house while you grab something, was no longer allowed. They were asked to remain outside, due to it possibly alarming Logan and causing my friends to fear him. In their eyes he was like one of Satan’s hounds. I lived a life where outsiders would judge me and say he’s a monster, a nightmare. But what I experienced he was a complete puddle of love. I came to have a strong bond with Logan since he was  the first actual dog I was old enough to truly raise, and grasp his transitions as he grew older.

That simple infraction opened my eyes and made me realize self-expression is a major part of showing off who we are. But if we rely on magazines, and the “popular” group of kids in school to tell us how to dress, or what our vocabulary should consume of, then we are clearly doing something wrong. We are overall, fake, no longer ourselves. We shouldn't have to dress to impress or utterly even give a damn about what our peers think of how we look. If someone disagrees with your opinion, it’s okay if someone doesn't like something as simple as your shirt. It’s not the end of the world. You’re not going to be burned at the stake for being different, for being you, and being unique, and straying from the crowd. Creativity is a big part of everyone's personalities, and creativity is what helps us pick out what we want to wear, and how we do our hair every morning. I look back and realize  I depended on others to tell me who to be, what to wear and how to talk. I wasn't myself, and I wasn't being honest to myself. But now I am who I am and I don’t allow others to tell me what to do. Their opinions don't matter because as long as I’m happy then that’s all that matters.

Now that I am comfortable being who I am I’m not worried about what others think. You could say I am one of those so called “rebellious” children that dye their hair an abnormal color and wear band t-shirts. But focusing on the hair portion, did I make drastic changes to my hair to impress others? No, I didn’t. I went through the process of selecting a color that a felt represented who I am, to bleaching my hair. And boy, did that nauseating smell of bleach give me a headache after sitting on my head for hours. I could feel the heat, and bubbling process as it sucked the life out of my hair like a piece of construction paper that has been drained of color after sitting in direct sunlight for too long. Then fumbling with those obnoxious plastic gloves while using the hard bristled application brushes to slowly brush the color into my now bleached out section of hair. After sitting in boredom while the color set, I went through the never ending process of washing out the remaining dye from my hair, struggling to avoid getting soap and blue streams of dye in my eyes. But after the long process, the end product was all worth it. I liked how it looked, I was happy.

Logan may have a very limiting trait, but he is still no more than a loving cuddle bug. While others will say he is very intimidating and dangerous looking, he is nothing but a kind-hearted animal that doesn’t know the difference between a threat and a stranger. If it were to come down to a fight or flight situation, he would immediately pick fight. In his mind he is only doing what he justifies as right, in terms of protecting his family- his pack.

Walking into school the next day, I felt confident. I didn't care if someone said they didn't like my blue hair, or that my black skinny jeans and Asking Alexandria band shirt looked “weird”. I was making a statement about who I truly am. I was, and am done with trying to fit in. I no longer feel like every leaf in the forest should have to dip themselves in the same shade of green in order to be considered cool. I feel like we should all take off our masks, whether they hide our personalities, our fashion sense, the way we present ourselves. We shouldn't be ashamed to be just another pebble in the sand.

I would never change our decision, and take back the sacrifice I had made. Logan is nothing less than family. He made me see life through another lens and experience life differently, in a way not many people can understand. 

Eventually if you keep living in the shadow of someone else, you will lose touch with your real self, and before you know it you will be lost in the shadows forever with no way out. You will be known as the image you portrayed rather than who you actually are. So that day you decide to shake it off, and come to realization with yourself in the mirror. You will be frowned upon and no one will know who the real “you” is. If you are lucky enough to be different, don't ever change. Be proud of being a fruit loop in a bowl of cheerios. I mean hey, being different isn’t exactly a bad thing; it means you're brave enough to be yourself. Everyone just needs to wake up and smell the coffee.