I am talking to my dad; it’s the Sunday call. As usual, we talk books and he talks movies. I have little to add since I’ve spent my weekend watching reruns of Goosebumps episodes. So the most I could tell him is “viewer beware, you’re in for a scare,” which I decide against.
My dad’s taste in films includes films with subtitles, romantic comedies, and films that were made before 1940. And anything about, dealing with, or involving Italy or Italians in any way. The one thing they have in common is that they can all be viewed at home. My dad has furnished the home of the dude who owns Netflix and bought him a unicorn.
So I am confused when he says, “We went to the movies…”
“Dad, you went to the movies?”
“Yes.”
“In a movie theater?”
“Yes.”
“Near other people?”
“What are you getting at?”
I cannot picture my parents at the movies, eating popcorn, sipping at oversized soft drinks. For one thing, they can’t go there in sweat shorts or pajamas. And just as I am wrapping my head around this image, this gets said:
“Yeah, we saw Gravity at the IMAX yesterday morning.”
“Morning?”
“Yes, at 9:30.”
I gear up for a serious mocking, since going to the movies at 9:30 on a Saturday morning deserves such. However, before I can start I am hit by a disturbing epiphany that comes in the form of a string of sentences I have said in the recent past. Here are some of them:
“I need to get out of here, I want to make sure I am home by 2 (pm).”
“The party starts at 10 pm?! Are you kidding, that’s my bedtime.”
“I’m tired, thank God we didn’t go to a party tonight.”
“I’m not going out, it might rain later.”
As these degrade further as to eventually make me come off as a Matlock watching, creamed corn eating curmudgeon, I will stop. But by the end of my epiphany I am staring agape at the phone, reminiscent of Chazz Palminteri (Italian) at the end of The Usual Suspects. You know the moment, when he realizes that Kevin Spacey is Keyser Söze and then remembers all those things he’s said as they add up at the last moment. Yeah, I do that.
For most of us, turning into your parents is inevitable. We start picking up their mannerisms, habits, and even opinions to some degree. It has happened to me in installments. I catch myself saying things that hurt my very soul. I have long mocked my dad for the perennial sauce stain that graces every shirt he owns until he once pointed to the stain in the exact same place on my shirt.
But where I have really taken after my parents is the early bird bit. I like to do things early and be home early and in comfy clothes, which is a euphemism for ‘clothes that make me feel less fat’, or as my mom might call them, ‘eatin’ pants.’ I imagine it’s only a matter of time before I’m watching Italian films made in 1932 and going to the pub at 10 am. We all turn into our parents, and let’s be honest, we could do worse.
You could turn into Keyser Söze.
How are you turning into your parents?
#1 by greg galeone on October 20, 2013 - 11:23 pm
it has happened. my mission is complete.
#2 by Andy on October 21, 2013 - 5:37 pm
C’mon D, your collection of clothes has been various shades of brown for many years. I thought this was by design to hide the gulas.
#3 by Damien Galeone on October 24, 2013 - 8:21 am
I’m really happy you didn’t say shades of gray. Oh I am so happy…
#4 by Hokey Pokey Trainer on October 21, 2013 - 9:28 pm
When I got drunk and urged a friend repeatedly to make lists of what sucked about her ex as a means to get over him, that’s when I realised I’m my mom, because she would totally do that (sans the getting drunk bit).
#5 by Damien Galeone on October 24, 2013 - 8:20 am
Yeah but that’s just good thinking. Both getting drunk and the list…