Genetics are a Funny Thing

I love watching people's reactions when my dad says, "My goal is to have my funeral in a phone booth."  Most of them don't get it, I think, and the rest aren't quite sure how to react.  Typically it's an awkward chuckle.  The reason I love watching it is because he's serious.  He really hopes to not know anyone that would want to attend his funeral by the time he dies.  I am clearly his daughter.  Hubby really wishes I didn't have this blog.  He's pretty sure my toxic attitude may offend people.  I can't argue successfully against this point, but with my 9 - oh, wait, now 11! - followers, I'm pretty sure we're safe.  And since those followers are all people who know me, if I haven't pissed them off yet, this probably won't do it either.

And yet I didn't get my father's best feature - the ability to sit back & listen to a conversation, only to drop in the perfectly timed one-liner that cracks the place up.  While I can fling the occasional one-liner, people are less likely to notice it in the flurry of other words that are endlessly flowing out of my mouth.  Add vodka and it's exponentially worse.  I cannot shut up.  It is an illness.  But it is who I am, and while I try to fight it, it seems to be winning.  So poor hubby loses, since the words need to come out somewhere, and if I can put some here, I may be able to hold back once in a while.  Maybe.

What does this mean to my kiddos?  Little H believes that every person he meets is his friend.  If you don't have kids you may think this is a universal quality they share, what with their being too naive to see how much people suck, but it is not.  Yet H has this "quality" (lucky me), shouting "Mom, this is my new friend," awkward pause, while he asks the kid's name again, then "Amos!"  And by new friend, H means "this is the kid I've followed around the playground for 5 whole minutes!"  H is SO me.  Both the I can't shut up me and the I don't care who I piss off me.  He will relentlessly follow little Amos around the playground until Amos either begs his mother to leave or finally acknowledges (often against his will) that they are, indeed, FRIENDS!

And then there's JD.  This kid is my father and hubby, all wrapped in one.  Shy and not afraid who he pisses off.  This does not a friendly child make.  He is content, though, something for which neither Little H nor I are known.  With contentment comes contempt with JD, at least at the playground.  Here's the scene:  JD playing happily on his own, usually in the sand.  Over comes an unsuspecting friendly child who says, "Hi!"  This isn't exactly a strong political statement.  JD's reaction?  A death stare.  And this kid is committed.  He will stare right back at unsuspecting friendly child for several minutes until said child either skulks away (his preference), averts their eyes and decently stops talking to JD (acceptable), or cries (unacceptable!  too loud!).  When the crying happens JD will either throw something at the child (typically ineffective at stopping crying) or walk away to do something else where he may not have the horrific experience of being addressed, hopefully ever.

So there I sit, a comfortable distance away, watching these two creatures that are both mine, inevitably smirking or laughing, and once again pissing off the parents of either Amos or unsuspecting friendly child, and this time I'm not even trying.  C'mon people.