††††††††††† Despite my attempts to avoid it I am going through the male change of life. I am turning into my father. Shocking I know, and at such a young age, but all the signs are there. In fact, put me in shorts with black socks and dress shoes and no one could tell the difference between us. ††††††††††
††††††††††† It started subtlety with my sudden interest in thermostats. I found myself wandering through the house and adjusting the temperature to lower the electric bill. I didnít think much of that until I became obsessed with lights. Why were they left on and who left them on? I needed to know.†
††††††††††† The smoking gun came when I heard someone who sounded exactly like me scolding the children. ďGo to your room for the rest of the week!Ē ďDonít ever touch your sister again!Ē ďThe next person that says a word is grounded for life!Ē These were classic Dad-isms.† I knew I was in trouble.
††††††††††† I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. I stood in front of the mirror and contorted my face. The longer I stared at myself the more I saw Dad looking back at me. After an hour or so I was horrified to recall that Dad spent all his time in the bathroom.† The change was moving quickly.
††††††††††† How could this be?† When I was sixteen and knew everything I swore I wouldnít let this happen and for a long time it didnít. I even began to speculate that the heredity gene may have skipped over me and on to one of my sisters. After all, bedsides the hair on his head and nostrils Dadís body is as smooth as a swimmers. I have more chest hair than Tom Selleck in 1979.† There must be a biological explanation for this.
††††††††††† I suppose my real concern is that I am growing older. In truth I cannot think of a better man to turn into than my Dad.† I just figured it would happen when I grew up. Apparently, my Herculean efforts to avoid adulthood have not worked. Iíve tried everything from avoiding work and responsibility to wearing my size 32 fruit of looms, though my waist has grown significantly large enough to house 38ís, but Iím still finding gray hairs south of the strike zone, I canít stay out past 11:00pm, I hate crowded bars and when cleaning up a room I knee walk from object to object rather then bend up and down. Iím ready for the rest home.
††††††††††† On the bright side, my parents are retired and spend their time cruising the world in search of the perfect prime rib. Thatís something to look forward to. Meantime, Iíll continue my quest to reverse the aging process and start by manscaping the gray from my groin.