The Exact Art and Subtle Science of Becoming Your Parents

"Hannah, you're really becoming more and more like your mother."

I heard this statement said aloud while driving home on a solo return from the Holy Granger's Middle Name home this evening. It so happens that House of Pain's symphonic masterpiece, "Jump Around" was serenading me on my journey, and one hears such intricate melodies, one must rejoice to the high heavens above through an appropriate means of artistic expression--Dance!

(For those unfamiliar with Pain House Boston Boys rapping, or if you're wanting to watch footage of a Leicester High School Bagpiping Miracle Man, you may click here.)

Now, dancing in the car is a skill not to be underestimated. The ability to maneuver your body in such a fashion that both articulates your affinity for the music you are hearing, combined with not sacrificing the safety of those in your speeding death trap, it a feat mastered by few.

Often, in these instances where I am struck with such inspiration, I am compelled to exercise these skills. Others traveling in their speeding death traps are amazed by my moves which can only be perfected through years of practice. They may show their amazement by extending single fingers (a pointing gesture, if you will) or perhaps by pulling out their personal recording devices (I believe we are now calling them cellular phones?) or even simply by opening their facial food consumption device (a mouth?) and making strange uncontrollable noises.

As it were, these movements mimic those of a maternal influence in my life. This particular style of artistic expression is marked by snapping, excessive arm waving, slight hip shimmying, and side-to-side head whipping. Not everyone can grab hold of these movements with such precision, and I weep for them.

Just this evening, I was laying out my vitamins, allergy avoidance pills, and more, downing them with wine (as if there were any other way) and it came to me, as though through a secret whispered telegram (beep beeeeeeeeeep bee-bee-beeeep), that my name should be changed. Hannah? More like young Hannah's Mother (think a popular Creedance Clearwater Revival song mentioning fondness for ways of speaking and style of gait.) If this was too much for you, then you don't have enough of Hannah's Father in you (a recent-ish Presidential candidate.) Or maybe you don't have enough of Hannah in you. In which case, I weep still for you.

Maybe I don't have enough Hannah in me?! Is it possible to not have enough of yourself in you? Can I possibly be more Hannah?

The answer is yes, and the answer will be coming soon [to a theater/theatre (personal preference) near you] in the form of furry feline companion. Stay tuned! More updates to be published in the coming weeks.