Long Distance Phone Calls

Does such a thing as long distance calling even exist anymore? Everyone has unlimited this that and the other thing, with a side of chili fries on their cellphone now. Anyone remember calling cards? I may be young, but I distinctly remember talking to my grandparents by first calling a 1-800 number on the back of a credit card like slab of plastic from Sam's Club.

I spent some time on the phone today talking with my dad and my sister. Separate calls and separate people. But were they really? I once noticed that my dad and I write the letter "d" the same way, something like a grain of rice attached to a cursive "L."  When I first noticed it, I wondered if handwriting was genetic. Anyone who knew my dad at my age would tell you he and I are spitting-mirror-looka-images (which makes me somewhat fearful of my future) so obviously those genes came on down. What about the muscles in my wrist? Or the patterns of electrons in my brain? Is there DNA for that?

The question has become all the more vivid recently due, not in a small way, to "growing up." 

For one, I realize that it is not so bad to be a lot like my parents. I mean, come on, they did raise me, and I am pretty damn pleased with myself and my life, so if they could churn out a kid like me, meh, they must not be that bad. Secondly, whether it be nature or nurture, it is inevitable that I will become them. My father is a hardworking, rarely sleeping, do it all for my family kind of guy. And I, while familyless, will gladly report to my day job Wednesday morning even with an inch and a half of skin dangling from my neck because of a work related injury. I skip some sleep tonight to read and critique my friends books (something I hope I will one day call my career) and I will take directions from people with lower IQ's and education levels simply because, by God, it's my job. If you think that is just me poking fun at food service workers, seriously, ask my dad about the people he works with. My mother has the body of a mustard seed and the heart of a mountain. How all that often unrequited goodness (shown especially during my ages 13-18) fits in just 5'0" under 115 lbs I will never know. I, surely you see the connection, am a card carrying Democrat.

My sister, pale as a parsnip, is raising an urban garden on her Kansas apartment patio. I am raising one on my New York apartment stairwell. Today my dad said "There is nothing like something that comes out of your oven by your own hands," as we talked about how to perfect my burgeoning interest in bread baking. To me, it sounds a bit more like the mind and the pen. 

Either way, I am beginning to see where I come from.