There's this thing that my brother Colin and I dwell on from time to time:
My gradual, and yet assured transformation into my father.
This happens to all. You vow you will never be as your parents were, right before you become them.
I can remember the first time I ever thought I resembled my father in mannerism. I was sitting on a bench in the Avalon Mall (it was probably not in the Avalon Mall. It was probably not even in Newfoundland), and I took a 'step back' from my whirlwind thoughts for a moment to note my sitting posture. And I realized I was sitting exactly as dad sits when he is waiting on a bench.
It's different now. Things are a little more specific. It is impossible to describe unless you not only know my father, but know him well.
My father cannot use cell phones. He has little patience for them. My dad was alive when Newfoundland was still its own country.
He holds the phone very far in front of him (he's near-sighted), and randomly jabs at numbers with his calloused fingers. He doesn't press send. He holds the phone to his ear. He sputters: "I can't get 'dis fucking thing to work." The three Warford sons keel with laughter.
Okay, cut to last week. Colin, Brian, and I (just typing out the words makes me feel good) are running errands in Toronto.
Brian drives like someone from Montreal. His car is very peppy. It would have to be to be Brian's car. Turbo charged? Of course it's turbo charged.
We are preparing to go to Best Buy because Brian has to buy some sort of adaptor...thing. I have to eat because I'm getting irritable. We go to Burger King.
People are milling. I hate Burger King. This guy shouldn't be allowed to sell anything.
Fucking terrifying. Seriously.
Anyway, Colin and I order first, and Brian is left to order and pay. I approach the soda fountain to get my beverage.
Let me paint it for you: It's your standard affair. Buttons with markings to distinguish which dispenses which drink. A spigot for each beverage. Space. For your cup.
Root beer. That's what I choose. I hold my cup under the spigot, then I press the Fruitopia button next to the root beer button, and watch with surprise as reddish-pinkish liquid spews from the dispensor adjacent my own. And I'm holding my empty cup underneath my inactive faucet, curiously watching this stream rush by, right next to my hand.
In retrospect it must have been funny to see how confused I was. It really took me a few seconds to piece it all together.
Which is precisely how dad would experience the same situation. And only someone like my dad would do something so ridiculous in the first place.
I honestly don't believe I have ever seen Colin laugh so hard before. Brian is still ordering as Colin and I make a scene with our roaring, hysterical guffawing.
Brian does not know what has happened at this point.
I'm confident that no one witnessed it besides the two of us.
It's only a matter of time before I start feeding my Visa card into ATMs.
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