Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.Mirror, mirror on the wall, I’ve become my father after all by J. G. Fabiano I was at a party the other day minding my own business and watching people. They talked in their little groups about anything and everything until all of a sudden an old friend I hadn’t seen in quite a few years came up to me and said it was nice to see me again. I smiled and responded with: "It is nice to still be seen." A bell went off in my head because this was a favorite statement of my father’s. I was shocked in the realization that I had become my father after all. I want to make it perfectly clear I don’t believe this is a bad thing. My father has been the head and supporter of his family for the past eight decades. In fact, at 84 years old he still is. He continues to have a couple of jobs and he continues to take care of his home and wife of over 60 years. So, I am quite happy to evolve into someone like my father but, it has not always been that way. Before I was a teenager my father was definitely my hero. He was a talented ball player and if it hadn’t been for World War II he might well have played in the big leagues. I tried to emulate everything he did. He was the coach of my baseball team and he always seemed to be the guy everyone went to when they had a problem or needed advice. He was a big man who was always in shape so I would do my best to eat as much as possible so I could grow up to be just like him. The only problem was I had a tendency to grow wider instead of taller. Then, when I hit my teens and began building my own life I swore I would be different from my father. He was a salesman who always seemed to be on the road. He worked for a major company that meant us having to move every two years. This was tough on my family, which consisted of two older sisters and a younger brother. Every time we got comfortable in a specific neighborhood we were told we had to pull up roots again and move. I guess I should thank him for this now because I find it easy to make friends. I guess I succeeded in my quest to be different from my father because I’ve lived in the same town for almost 28 years. The one physical attribute I did receive from my father was becoming follically challenged. My father lost his hair at a young age while my hair loss happened gradually. Back in the days when my father was young and building a reputation in sales it was understood that the younger one looked the better one did. So, when he lost most of his hair he decided to buy a toupee. My father wore a toupee most of his life so that many of his friends never thought of him as any other way. I, on the other hand, decided to wear a cap most of my life. I was told this could speed up the balding process but I did not care because when one owns a gene one also owns its expression. In my case baldness would become a reality. Now that I am older I once again see how I evolved into my father because even though I never opted for the false hair I did opt for some sort of covering. I am glad to live in a time and place where the wearing of a baseball cap is a positive fashion statement. My father was always the teller of tales. I remember when I was very young I used to take in every word he said. I would sit there in total awe, marveling at how one man could have done so many things. When I reached my teenage years I discovered that many of his stories were repeated. There was never a question of whether or not he did what he said he did but it was becoming quite evident that every time he met new people he would pull out of his archive many of the stories I had heard before. This bothered me when I was young but now I find myself enjoying the tales that I heard early in life because it reminds me of times when things were wonderful. I now find myself looking for an opening in a conversation when I am with different groups of people so I can grab everyone’s attention by telling a funny story or describing a specific personal experience that I have been told I exaggerate a bit too much. My wife would sometimes remind me that I was telling a story everyone had heard before and were simply being polite by listening to it again. So now, I feel almost ecstatic every time we visit a place that has new people so I can be confident none of them has heard a tale I’d be sure to tell before the night was over. When I was young and making my own life some of my father’s facial expressions used to drive me nuts. When he met different people or was asked to pose for a photo he would always grin as hard and as full as his face would allow. I used to think this looked phony but today, when I see those old pictures; I smile too, knowing he was just happy to be there. I now smile as hard as I can when I meet new people or am asked to be part of a picture, hoping that in the future that’s how people would remember me. My father would also use the same body expressions throughout his life, which also used to drive me crazy. One specific expression used to be the way he waved good-bye. You couldn’t really call it a wave, more of a signal. He would raise his arm up in the air and pretend to be working a railroad horn by pumping his hand up and down. The other day I found myself doing the exact same thing as I left a group of people I would not see for a while. As soon as I did it I realized how good my father must have felt when he did something that everyone knew was specific to him. I was at a party the other day watching people as they talked in their little groups about anything and everything when all of a sudden an old friend I haven’t seen in quite a few years came up to me and said it was nice to see me again. I smiled and responded: "It is nice to still be seen." I then gave everyone in the group a huge smile and began to tell them a story I hoped they had not heard before. Then, as I left, I gave them a salute my father had taught me years before. Walking down the hallway I looked into a mirror and realized I had become my father after all! THE END
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