Photo by Eva 2106
I’ve been thinking about my Dad today…some of the things that used to mortify me growing up, I find I’m doing them now. Case in point…Questions. My Dad was ALWAYS asking questions. Not nosy questions but questions about everything else. I remember hearing him asking a question and responding, “what do you want to know that for?” And his response was always, “I don’t know why…but I need to know.”
Recently I was chatting on Facebook with a friend when she piped up, “you ask an awful lot of questions.” It stopped me on my tracks and over the next couple of days I was more aware of what I was saying. I then realized that I really did ask a lot of questions. And I also noticed that a lot of people don’t seem to ask questions at all.
Being a baker, my Dad was alone most of the time with a radio for company. I’m alone in my job most of the time as well…so I wonder if that has something to do with it. Or, maybe, there are just people who have that “need” to know. If I don’t ask questions, I have the type of brain and imagination that tends to make stories up…you know when you’re at a restaurant and you study the people at the table close to you. By the time dinner is over, you have a whole scenario in your mind? No?
My Dad was a great story teller too…his bedtime stories were amazing. When I’d sit down in the bakery during the early morning hours, he would make up stories for me(I remember the one of why the skunk got his stripe…
Another thing my Dad loved to do was negotiate prices…it didn’t matter what it was(back in the 1950s/60s there were still mostly local stores). I used to HATE going shopping with him cause I knew he would haggle with the owner/clerk to try and get the price down…and most of the time, he did…and did it quite well.
You know…I kind of wish now that I had learned that talent…
til next time…Eva