I’ve been spending a lot of time with my parents lately. Not because I’m forced to, but because I actually enjoy it. It’s funny because when I think back to my early twenties, I did everything shy of moving out to get away from them (I had no money). It wasn’t “cool” back then.
But now, I’ve grown to appreciate my parents and to learn from them. Don’t get me wrong, I still think they’re crazy. I tell them all the time. Especially, when they try to suck me into settling one of their old-married-couple arguments. Yes, Mom, it was wrong of Dad to throw away your expensive face cream if he did it on purpose. No, Dad, I guess it’s technically not your fault if you thought the unlabeled container was spoiled sour cream.
More and more people point out that I look exactly like my mom and I’ve noticed that when I smile a certain way, I look like my dad. I think that when we’re younger, we focus so much on not being like our parents and rebelling against all authority. Or, at least I did. I hate being told what to do.
The two cats that we had as a family stayed with my parents. The older one is Chomper. He was being cute as always and meowing (presumably telling me about his day) in the kitchen. Naturally, I responded by singing to him. He stared at me with his big yellow eyes and listened. After our conversation was over, he walked to my parents’ room. My dad sang to him as well, but in Spanish. So, as Chomper walked from the room to the kitchen and back, he was being serenaded in two languages.
I thought, oh now I know why I do that! I break into song all the time and if I don’t know the words (almost always the case) I just make up my own lyrics. Instead of talking back to the cats like a normal person, I might sing to them instead–just like my dad.
So, there’s no denying: I am their daughter. I look like my mom and I sing to animals like my dad.