The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree

I grew up thinking I didn’t have anything in common with my dad. Part of that was because we aren’t that close, but most of it was because he’s not the best communicator. I never really knew what he was thinking or how he felt about me (or anything else, really). Now that I’m a bit older, I see we’re not that different.

A few weeks ago, my dad saw an ad on TV promoting fireworks after Friday night Dodgers games. He asked me to look into tickets then had my mom call me every hour or so to see if I’d got the tickets. Apparently my dad really, really, REALLY wanted to go. I dropped what I was doing and got the tickets.

My mom called a few days later saying my dad was freaking out because he wanted to talk about plans for the game on Friday. I told him the game was in two weeks. He was adamant that he’d heard them say on on TV that the fireworks were every Friday. I relayed to him that the Dodgers were playing in Miami that Friday, and our game was NEXT week. The fireworks are only during every HOME game.

Oh.

The week of the actual game, I got a steam of questions from my dad about what kind of food they should bring. What time they should get to the game. Whether they should they bring an AM radio to listen to the call while at the game. What time was I going to get there. How I was going to get there. Whether I wanted them to bring me any food. Where the seats were. My dad wanted to know every little detail. His nervous energy reminded me of someone.

Me.

I’m not that big into fireworks, but I used to really get amped up for bobblehead giveaways at Dodgers stadium. They only give them out to the first 40,000 fans, and I worried I’d miss out. The odds of missing it were slim since you’d get one as long as you got there before the game started at 7:00. But that wasn’t good enough for me because you never knew. What if 35,000 people all decided to leave work early and get to the stadium at 6:00?

So I’d plot and scheme how to leave work early and get to the stadium at 5:00, two hours before the game started and before the gates to the stadium even opened. I’d wait in line outside the stadium gates and try to count the cars in front of me. Were there 40,000 cars? Probably not, but there could be more at the other entrances. After I parked my car, I’d speed walk to the stadium and wait in line to get in. Even seeing the crates of bobbleheads at the entrance didn’t ease my anxiety. I’d nervously pace along with the twelve or so other crazy people in line, and we’d collectively worry that we might not get a bobblehead.

I always ended up getting a bobblehead, just like my dad was able to make it to the game to watch the fireworks. The whole experience with the fireworks was funny and made me wonder if my son is going to be the same way. Is he going to agonize over trivial things? Will he worry about every detail and all the millions of ways in which things can go wrong? Is he going to be a ponderfretter like his dad?

And his grandpa?

Six weeks more until we find out.