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Sunday, June 16, 2013

My Father...

Today, of all days, I am grateful to have my father. Not only glad that he is still alive and available to talk to, but thankful for the kind of man he is.

People say I am my father's son. I suppose that most likely means that I have a similar eclectic (and somewhat eccentric) sense of humor, and my voice echoes with his. I suspect that my penchant for groaning puns and the ability to hear cadence in speech and fit random phrases to well-known music may have something to do with it. It probably also means that I unconsciously share a number of his distinct mannerisms, and there is no doubt when we walk into a room together to whom I belong.  The apple, they say, does not fall far from the tree, and while I am not a teacher, the resonance of "son of an English Professor" is profound in my life.