Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Slowly Becoming My Father
I’m slowly becoming my father. Not in the big things, and not even in all the small things. But in the really small things.
My dad used to hate it when I was a little too rough in closing the door in his car. He would get that strangled, frustrated dad look on his face every time and say something that would make me sullen in that special way that only a teenager can get just right. And I would think to myself, “I’m just closing the freakin’ door. Lighten up.”
I’ve noticed a pronounced tendency to hate (and I don’t use the word lightly) anyone who rides in my car and slams the door when they get out. I’m not sure precisely why--although, damnit, you don’t have to slam the door to close the thing--but the feeling is unmistakable.
Of course, people sitting in the back seat and leaning over into the front seat or pounding on the back of the driver’s seat rouse the same emotions as do the people who sit on my iPod, phone, and a pen without even noticing.
I am feeling mighty cranky.
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© 2005 by the authors of ResurrectionSong. All rights reserved.
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