Who am I? I have no idea. Am I me? Who is me?

I know I am unique and special. The way I get chills when I watch Star Wars trailers. The way I like Marmite and cheese sandwiches. The way I like computer games. The way I… the way I… Oh. I am literally a collection of nerdy cliches, aren’t I?

Perhaps I need to go on a spirit-quest to find myself. Where do I begin? I’m not very good at finding things. Maybe I am just a bunch of cliches. Maybe there’s someone identical to me sitting a stone’s throw away. A stone thrown by my two-year-old son.

My two-year-old son knows who he is. He’s Gekko.

PJ Masks has taken over his mind. He started by running around jumping into superhero poses. Then, when I called his name, he announced that he wasn’t him, he was Gekko. It didn’t help that he has an older brother and sister, one to be Cat Boy, one to be Owlette.

When he realised this he seemed to let go of the reality rope entirely. Then he started to stalk me, standing still for a time, his camouflage ability engaged, then he suddenly charges, bellowing, and head-buts me in the privates. He really needs to find himself.

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Very early this morning, Gekko shouted for me from his room. I wake, stumble out of bed. Step on something jagged. Knock something over.

“What’s wrong, son?” I ask.

He looks as though he has just woken from a bad dream.

“I’m not Gekko, Daddy!” He tells me.

“Who are you son?” I ask, expecting him to have swapped Gekko for some other character.

“I’m me!” He declares.

Great. Even he can complete a spirit quest and find himself.