As I grow older I hear more of my late father’s voice in my words. It’s not anything I can pin down. My dad had a very expressive speaking voice, especially when he was in a light-hearted mood. I remember him that way a lot.
When I speak to the pets or to Brittany, I hear some of that coming out–I don’t know where it comes from.
Other things to pass on were more scarce. Certainly, I have genetic inheritance: musicianship, a certain playfulness with my kid, and some physical characteristics like good teeth and a certain voice.
My father and I shared a taste for good seafood and jazz: two tastes I haven’t influenced my daughter to adopt. He didn’t share my taste in science, rock, ethnic foods, science fiction, or church things.
Not three weeks into summer vacation, and Brittany has turned into a Star Trek fan, asking at every turn to view all my taped Voyager episodes. I noticed she listed it as her favorite tv show on her summer camp application a few days ago. I asked her why she didn’t list this show instead. She just shrugged. She also jumped in ghee–I mean glee at my Father’s Day dining choice this afternoon.
Afterward, we enjoyed more sf fun: she enjoyed the character Polly Perkins. That’s okay. I rather enjoyed the other female lead in the film, but I think I look at female hero figures somwhat differently.
I sit in awe at the influence parents seem to have on children–on the influence I have on one child. I’m used to people going their own way, making their own decisions, and leaving me to my own devices. You’d think that by age eleven they’re leaving family influences farther behind. But I guess not yet. It still feels like a singular responsibility.