“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.
