My parents’ conversation overheard while watching the US Open:Mum: “Why doesn’t he wipe the sweat off?”
Dad: “How should I know?”
Mum: “You know everything.”
Dad: “I’m not telling you.”
What struck me was that this was pretty much a carbon copy of many petty arguments I have with my wife – she asks a stupid question, I reply in a dismissive manner, she retorts with a response that, though clever, indicates that she never really took the question seriously in the first place, I reply with a tender yet defiant remark.
I am 37 and I have definitely become my parents. I see it as a kind of step in evolution, where one repeats the past, in the hope that one day they can finally perfect it and move forward.
