that haunting feeling

I have a confession. It is one of those confessions...you know, the kind you promise yourself for years will never come from your lips. Not while you are living. Not even after. Other people will make this confession. They don't know better, poor souls. But you, you see what is coming and dodge it lightning quick because you can change what is coming and you can choose to never ever need to say that.

Are you ready? Here it is:

I have become my parents. At a very young age at that. I am not married. I have no kids. I haven't even found a real job. But I see it. Creeping out through my expressions, mannerisms, and choices.

I laugh like my mom? I drive like my dad? I cook like they both taught me. I sweep like my stepmom? I do my dishes like my stepdad always insisted? And so many more things. I give advice and their words fall out. When did that happen? It is the phrases I choose and the things I care about. Today, this realization came upon me en force as I walked through the grocery store with my legs feeling wobbly because I had just gotten off my bike. Though I was wearing Teva sandals, I could close my eyes and imagine my dad's bike shoes clack clack clacking. (My own shoes made just a similar enough noise.) Just like they did every summer of my memory until this one. Just like they do this summer without me to hear. Some things never change.

None of these things are bad. It is just weird. It isn't like I set out to avoid picking up my parent's traits, just that I thought I was immune because they were all so different from each other. But no. There they are, staring at me in whatever metaphorical mirror I look. Today is the day that I have to admit, I am their daughter. So many of the things I made fun of them for fall from my limbs and emerge in my expressions. Oops?