It's a memory I've been thinking about for the past few years, as I've tried to figure out who I really am.
I was about 11 or 12 years old. I asked my mom one day to come outside and visit with me. While she gathered up her cigarettes, lighter, and water glass, I ran outside and got two lawn chairs. I opened them up and sat them across from each other. She came outside, and I said, "So tell me about yourself."
She did. We had several more conversations of the same throughout the years, so I don't remember what she told me that day.
I've often thought about those words throughout the years, and this story is more about me that her - I just keep thinking, "What kind of kid asks that question?" The only one I know of is me.