My Father's Son

My dad was taller than I am. I think he topped out around 6'2", but I never made it to six feet. I peaked at five foot eleven, and as of my last physical it seems that I am now shrinking. Because my dad was taller than the average man he often slammed his head into things. I remember him walking into the overhead garage door rails a few times before he realized he should put padding on those things. But not until he left enough DNA on the end of those rails to build a little Big Al. Clumsy, that's the one thing my dad and I had in common. Lucky for me, because I never reached the height my dad did, my head slamming has been minimalized. However, on Saturday I did manage to draw blood. One of the windshield washer nozzles on the PT Cruiser had lost its little hose, so I lifted the hood and took a look. "Hmmm.. " I thought, "I can fix that." So I took the little hose and re-attached it to the connector, immediately snapping it off. I took a small problem and made it bigger, which caused me to begin cursing as I lifted my head up from the bent over position I had been in, which resulted in me slamming my head into the very pointy hood latch, which caused me to draw upon my top of the line, most foul, cursing. I did not care what the neighbor's thought. After all, I told myself, I won't even be living here in two weeks as I mopped the blood off the top of my head. And then I looked at the hood latch. There it was, the hunk of bloody flesh with hair hanging from it. Yes, I am my father's son.