Things That Make us Sound Like Parents

Some years ago a friend and I were putting together a display booth for a real estate company when he dropped a pair of pliers. When the tool hit the floor he said, "whoop!" in kind of a kid-friendly "oh crap" way. I didn't think much of it until he followed by saying, "Isn't it weird when you start making the little noises your father used to make?"

Yes. It is. You never know when a moment will come along to torment your consciousness. And like the hum from the TV, I hadn't thought much about it until he mentioned it. I mean I know I do things like my dad. I grunt when I eat, I walk with fists clenched, and I pound the earth, the floor, or whatever surface has the misfortune of me stomping across it with the heel-grinding zeal of somebody in a B-movie gorilla suit. I know these things. I think about them as much as possible, and sometimes, when clutching my beverage with one hand and shoveling taco salad in my head with another, I get glimpses of me as my father. And now this.

My dad had a lot of things he did/said while we worked together. Do I do them...let's see:

Cussing at inanimate objects. Check.
Talking to the dogs/kids in doggie/kiddie voice. Check.
Harassing the dogs/kids in doggie/kiddie voice. Check.
Making up songs. Check.
Stopping for no reason to space out at horizon. Check.
Taking sudden interest in small, inconsequential detail that suddenly must be altered no matter how late/cold/painful. Check!

Funny little noises. Check.

Drop something and I'll go "huuulp!" It's like creepy Muppet. Dammit, exorcise me!

This is compounded by several other recent parental sightings. Sarah and I noticed both our parents when Paco was found digging up our newly planted bushes. I said, "we can't have anything nice around here!" Sarah looked at me and said, "serious?" Yah, that was a question, but the statement was loud and clear: "You are older than the sky."

And then yesterday Quin wouldn't stay at the dinner table. I demoted him from his big person seat and pulled out his high chair. He was ticked. But I sat and waited until he calmed down long enough to eat a few bites. The whole ordeal might have been ten minutes, but I aged about fifty years. There I was, some old guy who used to be me, making a younger version eat something he didn't want. If there were a plug I might ask you to pull it.

But somebody's got to clean up around here.