Fact: My dad is cuter than your dad.
For example, if I were to say, "Hey, Dad! Today at work I wrote an article for the magazine on what gets said on campus tour. Then I went to lunch with my coworker Heather, and Courtney called me on her way to physical therapy," Dad would reply, "So, what did you do today?" "Who did you go to lunch with?" "Did Courtney call you?"
Courtney and I blame it on his occupation. As an optometrist, all he does is ask questions: "Which is better — one or two? Three or four? Can you read that top line?" and so on. He also checks peoples' eyes and gets them glasses and stuff, but, mainly, it's questions.
When I got home from work the other night, I was asking Scott how his day was, what was for dinner, what was in the mail, did he get a text from Morris, where's Waldo, whose line is it anyway, whatdya want from me, what is this, what was that ... and then he stopped me mid-interrogation asking me to cool it with the questions.
(I was going to have a hilarious clip from Friends right here from when Monica and Chandler had just gotten back from their honeymoon and Chandler was telling Monica that the reason their new plane friends had fake-numbered them was because of all of the questions she asked. "Just the sheer volume of them. It was like flying with the Riddler!" But YouTube doesn't seem to care that I need that clip to illustrate my point and, therefore, doesn't have it. So insensitive.)
And then it hit me. I'm turning into my dad.
(Thankfully, YouTube did have a clip of Rachel going through my same dilemma, complete with weird subtitles.)
This was completely unexpected for me. I mean, I know that I'm turning into my mom. Despite my best efforts, it is unavoidable. It's slowly started already with my penchant for necklaces and accessorizing. Soon I'll have the whole Chico's jewelry line overflowing in my dresser drawers, know the exact location of every T.J. Maxx in a 50 mile radius of my house, lure small children to sit with me at church with my bag of toys, and say "salmon" without the silent L. This is my lot in life. I have come to accept it.
I draw the line at brightly colored capri pants.
But, becoming Dad, too? I mean, that's Courtney's problem, right? She's the one with the extreme practicality, the over-concern for spending, need to succeed, etc. She is my dad's mini me.
I quickly shook off the initial shock and attributed it to my own occupation. When I interview people for a magazine story, I ask lots and lots of questions. I go into each interview with a list of questions, mapped out like a choose-your-own-adventure novel. Whether the question is yes or no, I have a corresponding follow-up question. Even while they're answering one of the 58 questions I've planned for them, my mind is constantly churning with more and more inquiries.
I comfort myself with the fact that maybe this characteristic will fill in the hole where my mom's T.J. Maxx honing beacon was going to be placed, thus sparing me from knowing every salesperson by name. I can take asking a high volume of questions if that is the case.
So, if you find yourself in a conversation with me and things start to get a little too much like the Spanish Inquisition, just pat me on the shoulder and tell me I'm my father's child. I'll get the message.
(Let me say that both of my parents have very admirable traits as well, like my mom's ability to make friends with complete strangers in five minutes flat, how she volunteers to help anyone with anything, her obvious pride in her children, fierce love of family, or dad's hard work ethic and "if you're going to do it, do it right" mentality, his tender heart and desire to help, and the way he wants nothing more to see his children happy. I can only hope that I'll one day realize I've been given these, too. Just not the capri pants, OK?)
Jennifer, I too am becoming my father. From the very beginnings of my memory I have always watched my dad contemplate decisions for weeks. Maybe it was a new family car, or a new tool for his garage, or (most recently) a new lawn mower. The seed is planted in his head that he wants this "thing" and then figures out every angle of it that there is. Once he has acquired said thing, not only can he already tell you everything that it does, but also he can tell you everything the other three competitors can do that he didn't end up buying. It. Drove. Me. Nuts. I always just thought, "Dad, just buy one already." But, now, I can't help it... any major purchase I make now has had several weeks of planning, plotting, and preparing. It just happens and I can't do anything about it. I am glad that I have this quality now. It will come in very handy in the future. I guess I only use this research now for my simple pleasures such as guitars and bicycles.
ReplyDeleteTwo things. #1 - this is hilarious, and I throughly enjoyed it! #2 - I'm so glad to have made it into the story. :)
ReplyDeleteJennifer, I too am becoming my father. From the very beginnings of my memory I have always watched my dad contemplate decisions for weeks. Maybe it was a new family car, or a new tool for his garage, or (most recently) a new lawn mower. The seed is planted in his head that he wants this "thing" and then figures out every angle of it that there is. Once he has acquired said thing, not only can he already tell you everything that it does, but also he can tell you everything the other three competitors can do that he didn't end up buying. It. Drove. Me. Nuts. I always just thought, "Dad, just buy one already." But, now, I can't help it... any major purchase I make now has had several weeks of planning, plotting, and preparing. It just happens and I can't do anything about it. I am glad that I have this quality now. It will come in very handy in the future. I guess I only use this research now for my simple pleasures such as guitars and bicycles.
ReplyDelete