“The world needs talkers too, honey.”  That’s what Liv’s Dad told her once, about a year or so ago, when she and I were going at it in typical Mom vs. teenage daughter style.

I got it.  That’s all I needed to be explained to me in order to understand.  Sometimes honestly, I just don’t.  I don’t understand why asking questions of someone like What’d you have for lunch? or How was your day? or Did you do have a good time? is so offensive.  But apparently it is for the non-talkers.  You know, for the people who just process differently than those of us who are right. 

Ok, fine.  I now realize, through that example and countless others, that just because I do something one way, it does not make it the right way.  That just because I operate, function, think, or feel in a certain manner does not make all those who don’t freaks.  Asking questions is my way of showing love. I never really understood that either, but it makes sense, especially given the multitude of people who would believe I have given up question marks like they’re gluten. 

So once I began to understand this perceived “flaw” of mine, I calmly explained it to Liv.  Why yes, I stupidly and methodically began to point out the rationale behind my (constant) question-asking to my daughter.  The one who does it her way, the right way, the only way, all the time. 

She totally got it.

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