Who’s Your Daddy?
There’s an old saying that as time goes by, you turn into your parents. I think I always believed that in the abstract, but over the last twelve hours it somehow turned into a tangibe reality. Granted, it’s a “Family Circus” kind of reality, but reality nonetheless.
Exhibit A: My son Christian wandered into mom and dad’s bedroom round about midnight all scared from a bloody nose. We cleaned up him, and then daddy cuddled with him on the couch for a time while he caled down and feel asleep. Afterward, I carried him back to bed.
Exhibit B: Christian dashes in again early this morning, panicked because one of his pet gerbils has escaped! On the fly, the old man has to devise a rodent trap to safely snag the errant critter and return him to his cage. Fun ensues as I try to bait said gerbil out of his hiding place and lure him into a laundry basket. Happily the plan works, more from dumb luck than any actual skill on my part.
Exhibit C: One of the kids’ Super Mario figurines (Luigi, in case you were curious) loses his head. Dr. Dad’s surgical superglue skills are requested, stat.
All of this before breakfast. And as I finally sat down with my bagel and orange juice, I fondly recalled how my own dad used to do exactly this same kind of stuff when my sister and I were growing up. He’s a lot like Scotty on Star Trek–always good natured, with a seeming ability to fix any problem in the nick of time. By watching him, I learned the ropes without even realizing it. Little did I know how handy those lessons would be. Because I have, as of this morning, officially turned into my dad.
And there’s no one else I’d rather be.
Posted on July 18, 2010
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