I WAS BORN THIS WAY: PART TWO

                                                                     

FIRST COMMUNION FOR THE CHATTERBOX!

     After taking on what appear to be the dominant qualities that shape me, Questioning and Opinionated, I am trying to figure out where to go with this.  My struggle is one of words.  I think looking for the precise words to accurately describe something is a big part of discovering what I really think.  A discussion of how expression helps me refine the thinking that forms my opinions is a topic I hope to tackle at some point, but that’s for another day.

                        

NOTICE WHAT I NAMED THE NEWSPAPER I CREATED TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE MISSIONS!

     For the sake of moving along quickly, let’s talk Talkative.  Clearly, talkative is an obvious adjunct of questioning and opinionated.  It’s hard to be bubbling over with questions and observations (which in my case eventually become opinions) and hold them to yourself. Math was the only class in school where my hand was not waving wildly when the teacher was asking questions.  I admit that I can be quite a talker and I’ve had to really practice trying not to talk so much. 

IN FRONT OF THE TROPHY CASE OUTSIDE THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

       Most people who know me, maybe even those who have just observed me, would say I can be a chatterbox.  I am reminded of the Zen koan that goes something like, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it still make a sound?”   I was the child that talked in class when I was bored – which reads “most of the time.”  I ‘m not sure if it was one teacher or more because I may have conflated the incidents, but I remember nuns who tried to silence me by moving my desk.  I was moved to the front of the class facing the other students, and apparently, I was still a distraction when facing the class so my desk was moved to be nose to wall with the blackboard.  I was also seated several feet behind the last student in a row and for at least part of the day, I was put in the cloakroom.  For anyone not familiar with that term it is a narrow area across the back of the classroom where students put their sweaters (uniform sweaters only so imagine the confusion when retrieving them) and lunches. The clearest memory of having a nun move my desk is the same nun (I called her Sister Mary in Part One) who yanked off my veil, and some hair, before dragging me into the girl’s bathroom to scrub any trace of lip-gloss off my mouth.  Toward the end of our year together she just permanently put my desk in the hall outside the classroom and gave me a packet of assignments to complete.  I guess being denied the wisdom she would impart to the class was punishing me, but I was relieved to be out of her crosshairs.   I actually benefited from this move because my desk was positioned near the door to the principal’s office and the principal started to talk to me as she passed by and several times invited me into her office.  In these talks, she reminded me that I only had a few weeks left in elementary school and she thought I would really enjoy more challenging work in high school.  She as much as said, “hang in there a little longer and this will be over and you’ll move on to something better.”

CLASS PICTURE IN FRONT OF THE AUDITORIUM STAGE

     I still talk to myself sometimes when I am working, and when I am working in the yard I talk to the animals, and I don’t mean just the dog, cats, chickens, ducks, and bunnies.  I greet the numerous lizards, birds, bees and butterflies as we cross paths, and have some not nice words for the squirrels that eat the fruit and vegetables that I am trying to let ripen!  I often talk to myself when I am writing, and of course there is the silent conversation of my thinking, in which I am trying to give words to what I really believe.  

                              

ONE OF MY WRITING COMPANIONS

       As with questioning and opinionated, talkative has some pretty obvious disadvantages.  I probably did not thank my mother enough for the many years she listened to me talk on about all things great and small, although I have tried to follow her lead and pay back her patience with my more “talky” children and grandchildren.  Along with an understanding and patient mother, I am grateful for the trait that compels me to share what I am thinking.  Whatever drawbacks there are to being someone who almost always speaks their mind; I think this compulsion to know what I really think and express it has been a gift to my marriage and family.  It can be messy at times but it has lead to deep and lasting communication and connection. 

       Although I accept the label of being a “talker” I  try to maintain an awareness of conversation as a two way street, or in the case of a group, a multi-lane highway.  I feel like I should wear a badge that says, “I don’t mean to interrupt.  I just randomly remember things and get really excited to share them.”   I have come a long way in this regard but once in awhile the floodgates open and a whole bunch of opinion spills out.  I apologize to those I may have annoyed or offended, but from my view toward the top of the staircase of my life, I would prefer reaching the end having shared myself too much, rather than too little.