I am My Father's Daughter

I am having Pergo laminate floors installed in my apartment. (They were going to be Prego floors, but tomato sauce offers very little insulation against the elements.) Wendell, the asthmatic wonder cat, has had to spend the last two days boarded (and bored) at the vet's. And yesterday, my father picked him up, since he was overseeing the home renovation and the vet closes before I would get home from work.

And apparently, he was in one of his "funny" moods, where he acts a little goofy and gets friendly with total strangers. When I dropped Wendell off this morning, the vet tech told me, "Your Dad is a funny guy." And I'm thinking, "Oh, geez, what did he do?" And all I could get out of the tech was that he said, "I am my father's son."

My Dad says this a lot. I didn't know my grandfather all that well, but I remember his own goofy sense of humor. He used to get on the phone with each one of his four grandchildren and tell the same jokes. . . Usually it was, "Isadore Brown in your classroom?" But I know that when my father says this, he means that he got more from his father than just a penchant for stomach-churning one-liners and puns. From his father he inherited a generosity and a sense of family duty that propels him to do whatever he can to help me. Sometimes I feel this keeps me from being as independent as I could be, but I have to admit, it's comforting to know he wants to be there for me. This year, through Wendell's illness, my own struggles, and various apartment-related disasters, he has always come through.

My father and I don't always see eye to eye. I can be a difficult kid; he can be a difficult Dad. We're very different people in so many ways. And we both have tempers that could blow the roof off the, let's say, eh, the Herald Square Macy's. And there have been times when we've disappointed each other. But we're also very much the same. Like me, he has his moods. We have a weakness for bad jokes and late-night snacks. When we're interested in something, our memories are steel traps (he for cars, me for TV, movies, college mascots, meaningless conversations from 5 years ago, etc.). We love talking about M*A*S*H and old flicks--hobbies of my father's my sister never showed an interest in. And like my father, despite my personality flaws, I often have good intentions.

I think my father refers to himself as "his father's son" so often because he values the connection he can make to my Grandpa, who died a decade ago. He's carrying a piece of him everywhere he goes. And whatever resentment I have towards my father, I know there's also that part of me that is proud to carry a little bit of Steve with me everywhere I go.

Thanks for the floors, Dad.