like father like daughter
it must have been way back in high school that i remember someone telling me that one day i was going to wake up and realize that i had become my parents. and to this notion i was skeptical to the point of belly aching laughter. years later i'm still laughing at the absurdity of that ever being completely true yet my skepticism fades as the years give way to the discovery of the similarities of my mother and (in this story) my father to myself. for starters my book collection, which is mostly composed of old obscure philosophical paperbacks and off the wall autobiographies, eerily resembles his obsession with theology and bibical historical accounts. then there is my fascination and adoration for physics, my adamant refusal to wear sunblock(which has resulted in the back of my legs being burnt to a soft crisp while at the beach this afternoon), the hidden sarcasism no one else can ever seem to pick up on, eating all the black olives before holiday dinners, intense loyality, a semi- tendency to randomly choose something and take it to the extreme(him with that damn atkins diet and me with productivity), and, the one i wish i could take after my mother about- always saying the right thing versus saying things i don't really mean or saying them the wrong way. so often what comes out or gets locked and loaded in type, hardly reflects my intent and what i had hoped would be understood. take for instance the conversation that happened in the car last night: my grandmother, my mother, and myself are driving to target because my gramma has a wedding coming up and she wants us to help her pick out a scarf and matching purse for this navy blue dress suit she will be wearing to it. my aunt, back in florida, has suggested she look for something "citrus" colored and this information she is passing along to us. my mother agrees and then adds how nice that color scheme will look together. i keep silent in hope that the conversation will pass but they are set on discussing this topic to it's grave, constantly poking their gun of interest at me until i have been cornered with no way out and must give an opinion and so i do, though have long forgotten the exacts, yet it was something that my mother felt neccesary to retort back, " well michelle is a very flamboyant dresser". to this i agree and add, "but it's not a loud and trashy sort of flamboyant style". which fills the montero sport with silence and immediately i know it's come out the wrong way. so i start to try and dig out of the hole in which i just blasted myself in with the stereotypical ohshit response formula of: explain, apologize and flatter. "not that your trashy gramma, i'm sorry, it's that i meant that color combination would be too loud on your soft complexion". and i was being sincere, my grandmother has such a sweet and subtle personality that i think her wearing a "citrus" colored shirt, a matching scarf, and purse IN combination with a navy blue blazer would just be too much. but silence ensued and then like manna from heaven they began to laugh, not because what i said was funny, but that, in a layering sync of perfect understanding they chimed, "oh your just like your father"