I was always highly impressionable, so it should be no surprise that I spent most of my childhood trying to become a street fighter. That I could not cast a fireball was not a sign it was physically impossible, just a sign I was not saying hadouken correctly.

I would also get into fights with classmates on purpose, always making sure our brawls happened out on the streets. School courtyard fighter did not ring the same. Sometimes, after a flurry of well-placed punches, I would shout, “5 Hit Combo!” and in my head, I would imagine a sizeable point increase.

My hunger for violence soon grew beyond that. Thankfully, I was introduced to the teachings of mortal combat, and began ending my fights by fatally wounding my classmates. I recall distinctly pulling Peter’s head from his body, leaving only his spinal cord attached. Good times.

Looking back, I realize that being so impressionable was probably not great. I wasted years of my life, and I lost a lot of friends, many of whom I finished instead of treated with respect. And I certainly would not have ended up where I am now, as a dinosaur-riding plumber.