Turning into one of your parents may be inevitable. Resistance is futile. If you’re a dad who was once a son, what say you? What about the moms out there who were once daughters? Is this as hereditary as I think? Here are five ways I’m morphing into my own dad with each passing day.
Turn off the lights when you leave a room
For me, it started with the lights. This I’ve determined may be the origin story of my own transformation into my father. Walking around behind my kids in the house, all hours of the day and night, flicking off light switches like my dad before me.
Except now I understand where my dad was coming from. That he wasn’t being melodramatic about the whole thing. He was just trying to keep the electric bill from skyrocketing into the gross domestic product of a small island nation. Electricity costs real money. I know this now because I pay the bill each month.
Excess gas
But if I think about it a little harder, it may have started earlier. With gas. Excess gas. Not the kind you buy at the pump. The gas bubbling deep down in your belly. When I was a kid, the only time I remember being truly gassy was my ninth grade year in high school when I convinced my mom to buy Carnation Instant Breakfast. The chocolate flavor.
She did, and before school for about a week before I said to hell with this, I drank a giant glass of Carnation Instant Breakfast to start my morning. For the remainder of the day, I’d sit in class with sharp gas pains poking at my sides. It was miserable. I couldn’t wait to get home and let ‘er rip. Now I wake up and it’s like my 40s are powered by methane just like my dad before me. My 30s were too. Even my late 20s. So maybe that’s when the transformation truly began. It snuck up on me and I wasn’t even aware it was happening.
Kafka’s metamorphosis into Wayne Pillow.
The grunt
I don’t sit down anymore. I descend slowly, then free fall the rest of the way onto the couch. I rise even slower. When I stand up now, there’s a sound that comes out of me. A low, involuntary grunt. A sound I used to hear from my dad as he made his way into and out of the recliner in our living room. Along with the grunt were sounds of knees cracking and popping. I’ve inherited this.
Don’t touch the thermostat
I check the thermostat frequently when my family is home. Did anyone touch it? Have they lost their ever-loving minds, if so? It’s never just right in our house for anyone but me. In the summer, it’s always too hot in the house. In late fall and winter, it’s always too cold. Incorrect. It’s just right, like that fairy tale says. There’s no way I’m turning up the dial to 72 degrees in the winter. Do you have any idea how much our heating bill will be if I do? My goal each month is to expend less energy than the month prior. It’s a game I play constantly. It’s a game I aim to win and not lose. We will not lose.
Dad logic
Dad logic may be the crown jewel of my transformation that corresponds to other ways in which I’ve turned into my dad. Let’s go back to the thermostat setting, shall we? I’ve caught myself, more times than not, saying things like:
- “If you’re cold, put on a jacket or grab a blanket.”
- “If you’re hot, drink some ice water.”
- “Oh, no. I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.”
Do you know how many times my dad said that last one? Countless. And do you know how many times I’ve said that in the last two months alone? Countless. My son got in trouble at school about a month ago. Did something he should’ve known better than doing. When he got home, he asked me, “Are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad,” I said. “I’m disappointed.”
Because it was true. I wasn’t mad. I was disappointed. Because I know I raised you to know better than [insert whatever it is you did here]. I know I did something right in raising you, so no, I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.
Dad logic is a runaway train. Once you’re on, you don’t get off. It’s a one-way ticket.
Some more examples from our house:
- “Don’t stand there with the front door open. We’re not heating up the entire neighborhood.” [winter]
- “Don’t stand there with the front door open. We’re not cooling the entire street.” [summer]
- “We’re leaving in five minutes, which means put your shoes on now. We don’t walk to the car in our socks. That’s not being ready.”
- “Trust me, it’s going to snow today. I can feel it in my knee.”
Every time I say one of these, I realize I’m summoning the spirit of my father. There are probably a dozen other ways I’m becoming more like him every day. But it’s early. The caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet. My brain’s still warming up. And I’m full of gas. So I’m going to walk around the house now while everyone else is still asleep and let these go before my wife can hear it.
How about you? Are you becoming more like your dad (or mom) every waking hour of your life? Have you noticed a change in your spouse? It sneaks up on you, and them BAM! you’ve turned.