Normal is defined as conforming to a standard; behavior that is typical or expected. I’m not likely to fit the textbook definition of “normal.”
I think I spend my life trying to appear to be normal but I never really succeed at it. Of course, I know the societal and religious rules and try to abide by them as much as possible. I never really understood that I was abnormal until I began to tell the story of my life to others. I could see their shocked expressions as I answered questions about my past. (You never know what you’re going to hear when you ask me a question.) I guess they couldn’t believe some of it. Imagine the stories I could have told them if I knew how to lie.
My family wasn’t (and isn’t) traditional. I married into a normal (?) family when I married Richard (sorry, Mom, I know you’re reading this blog, but we’re not normal.) Richard tried so hard to make me seem normal to his friends and family but he never succeeded either. I always had some idea or thought that seemed to shock him or make him think about things a different way. I learned to keep quiet though when I thought someone might take something the wrong way. As a result, I didn’t talk very much.
Stephen didn’t seem so disturbed by some of my ideas. I guess I seemed normal to him. He probably thought it was just a cultural difference between us and he learned to live with what he thought were “Americanisms.”
I never knew I wasn’t normal until I had to deal with normal people. But are they normal? I’m not sure that I care as much about being normal as others would like me to be.