It’s happened, the thing I’ve dreaded most.  I have turned into my parents.  I’ve worked so hard not to be like them and here I find myself doing those things that made me slightly crazed about them while I was growing up.  Sure, things have adjusted somewhat for the times and my personality but it’s definitely them barging into my life.

For instance, every morning of her life, at least while I lived in her house, my mother would go straight for her coffee and cigarettes.  I remember her holding her cup in one hand and the pack in the other and she would head to the couch, set her stuff on the coffee table and watch TV while she began her day.  Now, I am not the coffee and cigarette type, the reason I think it took me a while to realize I was mirroring this behavior, until I had a vivid sense memory.  Instead of the coffee and cigs, it was Diet Coke and my cell phone.  I sit on the couch and either flip on the TV or open up the laptop and begin my day.  At school it’s the same thing – Diet Coke, cell phone on the desk and laptop opened.  Even in the summer, I just switch some days to the table on the balcony.  At least it’s a change of venue.

The thought of giving up this habit causes me great consternation.  I certainly don’t want to be stuck in a habit reminiscent of my mother, but it’s Diet Coke after all.  Pretty sure I’m addicted, just like she was addicted.  Oh, the irony.  The other thing I do that makes me equally as crazed is that I make a mean dump cake.  Just like she did.  And I take it to gatherings.  Just like she did.  It’s my youngest son’s favorite dessert.  How in the world did this happen?  She took great pride in the fact that people asked her to bring this dessert to functions and I thought it was just about the silliest thing in the world to be proud about.  And yet, there I was, proud that my son asked for a dump cake for his birthday.  Arrggg!!!

Now, my dad was an interesting guy, very much a routine kind of man.  Came home from work at a certain time, sat and read the paper before dinner, ate and then headed for his favorite chair to read and or play his records.  Well let’s see here.  I’m writing this while sitting in my own special chair surrounded by my books and with my record player playing one of dad’s old records.  Of course, it’s not exactly like my dad – I have a bluetooth connection between the record player and my little Bose speaker.  But it’s my place to be by myself and regroup just like he used to.  It wasn’t until recently that I realized how much I was like him in this way.  I’ve often compared my middle son to my dad, the same temperament, the same love of books and music.  I just thought it had skipped a generation, but I’m realizing it didn’t.

Of course, these are pretty mundane behaviors and certainly not much to worry about.  I have spent years trying to eliminate, or at the very least, ignore other tendencies I’ve picked up from them.  My tendencies towards depression from my mom, my tendency to run away from conflict from my dad.  Despite my efforts, occasionally they still rear their ugly heads, just not as often.  By purposefully seeking help for the depression and stepping outside of my comfort zone to confront my fears whenever I can.  They are both struggles that I continue to deal with, but the good thing is that I recognize them and am working to better myself.

I suppose it’s a given that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but perhaps you can make a good apple pie out of it rather than let it rot on the ground.  Or maybe a good dump cake instead.