The other day, I was hanging out with my buddy, Carew, who was up from Arizona visiting family and friends. He said being over at his parent's place was like being sixteen again, asking to borrow the car. We started talking about how, here we are, in our forties, still feeling like we were kids around our parental units. What is this power they have over us?
Sometimes we just act like kids. This morning, my brother Lee and I were over at our dad's house helping the old man with a little bathroom renovation work. Lee was doing his best to make me laugh, and I was trying to crack him up behind Big Daddy's back. Maturity, right?
Why is this? Lee and Carew both have kids of their own, and I was a step dad for a few years, but here we were reverting back to being the kids ourselves. Out on the river yesterday, the old man was cussing more than I've heard him in a long while. Rather than bust out laughing, like I would have with anyone else, I found myself suppressing the laugh so as not to get Dad pissed off even more. Go figure.
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