When I was a teenager, I harbored an inexplicable loathing common between many boys in their adolescence: every time someone said, "Oh, you are just like your father," my insides would curdle.
Admittedly, I did not want to remind people of my father. Granted, Dad was skilled at a lot of things, but he was also cheesy, goofy, and every other word that's synonymous with weird. At least that's what I called it when he would burst out dancing at movie theaters if a catchy song was playing for the end credits. Not to mention my embarrassment when he invariably told the same old, corny jokes at every social function. Ever hear about the kid in Australia who was born with four legs? Well, I've heard about that poor kid thousands of times, and his condition isn't much different than when Dad first announced it. And let's not forget the Chinese fire-drills!
"Oh, Owen, you are just like your father," they said.
What's that supposed to mean?
But as much as I've resisted it, I am my father's son. Here are a few evidences that recently manifested themselves:
Case #1
Tonight, I went on a date with my dearest little sister, Kimberly. But not just any date; tonight we had the pleasure of attending BYU's annual dance concert, where all the university's top dance ensembles perform. And when the cloggers made a bold entrance, I immediately turned to Kimberly and we said in unison, "Dad would probably get up and start dancing right about now." You see, Dad did clogging in college, and the mere mentioning of the word "clogging" sends him off doing heels clicks. Once upon a time, that was embarrassing, but in that moment I had a feeling well up inside me that seemed to say, "Get up and do a jig!" I quelled that urge by telling myself, "You can let that out in your next dance class.'' Wait a minute, Dad took dance classes! And Dad constantly wants to get up and dance! What's happening to me?
Case #2
The first thing I did when I walked into the DI the first week of school was go straight to the shoe section. I spent the majority of my time there trying on scores of shoes, and I eventually found two pairs of decent dress shoes for $6 and $8. Now I wear those shoes just about every day. The funny thing is that Dad does the same thing the moment he walks into thrift stores--head straight for the shoe wracks.
Case #3
I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I tell the same corny jokes at parties that Dad tells. And I get the same reaction every time I reveal that the kid's mother is a goat. I also plagiarize Dad by telling everyone, "If everyone in this world were a little bit fatter, we'd be closer together."
Case #4
We share an intense love of gardening. And weeds drive us crazy. While walking to DaLynn and Carolyn's apartment I had to stop and root out a few dandelions in a patch of grass.
Case #5
When we start reading a good book, we burn the midnight oil to read a few extra chapters before going to bed. I just started reading Outliers, and it has me hooked.
These are just a few examples, but at this rate, soon I'll be knitting, running marathons, snoring, and vigorously scratching my head when I'm overly excited. I'll soon find out what other eccentricities I've inherited from him. But unlike before, now I'm OK with that. In fact, I look forward to discovering them and developing a few of my own. So thank you, Dad, for being every word synonymous with weird. Because now when people say I'm weird, I have genetic license to say, "Oh, my Dad always does that. And he's awesome!"
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