When I was littler, my family routinely accused me of not comprehending the meaning of ‘stop’. To accommodate my allegedly limited vocabulary, they would shout “opposite of go” at me, hoping, fruitlessly, that I would then understand. But ignorance had nothing to do with it, I was a victim of youngest child syndrome, a natural annoyance. I tried to fight it by vowing to never again be such a terrible bother. But that never lasted long. And I certainly didn’t even try last June when my dad asked me to stop. I just “forgot” the meaning, and got married anyway.
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