In the last few years my dad revealed to a few of us that he thought he was an introvert. [this is a laugh line] I wasn't sure how to take it. How could this be real? Was I dreaming? Was I not supposed to believe my eyes (or ears)?
As a kid, it felt like our family was always the last to leave any event. Growing up we got used to it. Dad would talk to everyone—at the swimming pool, the baseball field, church and school, any place where there were people. Often he seemed to find some unexpected shared interest or shared history. Many times these conversations turned into friendships.
I had always thought that he just really liked talking itself. So how could he be an introvert? I couldn’t fully grasp what to make of it, but I’ve come to realize that perhaps it wasn’t that he loved talking itself, he just loved people and saw them differently.
This isn’t the only strange contradiction I’ve had to make sense of during this time. In the past week, I've often been suddenly thrown to tears in response to rea