A Talker

Okay, I know I was a talker. I know I talked all the time and all the people in my life had to smile and nod and listen. I know that Ignacio is EXACTLY like me in this sense. I know, I know, I know. Yet, after nine hours of being the primary person he is talking to I feel myself ready to implode. He talks non-stop. He talks about what he is thinking. He talks about what he sees. He talks about what he feels, what he hears and what he fears. He talks and talks. Some days he asks questions that he already knows the answer to just to prevent a lull in our ten hour conversation. He talks when the music is blasting in the car. He talks when I am trying to listen to NPR. He talks right when they say the weather forecast on the radio. He talks when I am blow drying my hair. He talks even when the blender is on. I loose myself in the white noise of the apparatus as I watch his little mouth moving but with no sound. In fact, he is talking to me right now. I told him to talk to his brother but he said, "When I talk to Emilio he cries." I can empathize with that sentiment Emilio. Most days I ask for patience when what I want to say is "STOP TALKING!!!!!!!" I know that in the long run this is a good thing. I will always know what is on his mind. The day he is quiet I know something is wrong. We will always be connected through our incessant need to share. He's a talker. Now it is my job to become a better listener. Just another homework assignment from my three year old Zen master.