12.13
It’s not uncommon for me to hear my daughter tell me, “Dad, you’re weird.” And she may be right. I have my quirks that probably are weird to her, and to others I’m sure. But the other day, while taking Kris to school, I glanced over to see her with her mouth wide open (and not saying a word . . . which really is weird), and putting on mascara. All I could do was laugh.
“Kris, why do you open your mouth to put on mascara?” It was her reply that dumbfounded me: ”That’s how you put on mascara.” Really? Is there a course you take to learn how to hold you mouth correctly, or is it just instinctual? So, it made me wonder: when she’s tying her shoes, does she close her eyes? When she’s putting on lipstick, does she pinch her nose? And what about when she brushes her teeth, does she rub her tummy? Seriously. And I’m weird?
I’ve been a student pastor, and am a parent of a teenager. Now that all has been heard (and seen), here is the conclusion of the matter: whenever a teenager tells you that you’re weird, take heart, you are normal.