Another Letter For My Unborn Son (Part Five)

And my list of quirks  goes on and on, of course, like how I’m more offended by bland than by something actually tasting bad, or how I can happily wake up before seven or after eight in the morning, but if I’m woken up during the hour of seven A.M. I’m likely to grouse about it (if only to myself) for the rest of the morning.  Every quirk has a reason, however illogical (The seven A.M. thing, for instance, is because that’s precisely the time block I was forced against my will for years to get out of bed, and I still remember how much I resented it; waking me during that hour always makes me re-live that.), and though they’re all “mostly harmless,” understanding them gets you a long way toward understanding me.

And I like to be understood; it’s another quirk, and that one is a quirk I hope you’ll share with me.

Because one way or the other, I’m going to be doing my damndest to understand you at all times, and things will be a lot simpler if my need to understand doesn’t offend you.

It’s a quirk of mine, you see . . .

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