Like Mother and Father, Like Daughter and Son

Now there's Sumner, as in Sumner Hans Skelding, the little guy who lives with me and there's Classic Sumner, the nuclear family that I grew up with.

As with most families, it is comforting and disturbing for the adult-me to be with my parents and my sibling and see myself in them and them in me and them in each other.

For instance, when Dad leaves a message on someone’s machine he says, “Jim Sumner here...” and he goes on to greet each person living or even possibly visiting our house, “Hello, Emily, Phil, Sumner, Ramona, Ara, Aarti, Julie, Aaron, Moses.” Then he gets to why he is calling. In the last five years we’ve begun to get messages on our machines that say, “Jake Sumner here...” and the quality of his voice is just like Dad’s. It is funny and creepy. Funny because it makes me smile and creepy because it seems like the process becoming our parents is inevitable and unstoppable.

Ten days with them was enlightening.

That’s just freaky. I even like my parents. I’d be proud to be either of them (minus the bald head and without the neat streak). The thing is, it just undermines my sense of self-determination when I stand in my kitchen wearing an apron, which suddenly seemed like an accessory I should be using, with my hands on my hips shouting a wild story with lots of hyperbole and serving tea and little cookies on little tiny plates because it all seems so cozy. I mean: hello, Annaemibellely.

Being with my family, especially my brother, brought this evolution to my attention again and again. The night I arrived at my brother’s apartment, he took Phil and I on individual tours of his house, pointing out little things he’s just obtained and explaining why he likes them. My mom always gives me this tour of her place, “What do you think of that? Isn’t this cozy? I got that at...”

I sat down to unwind in his most comfortable chair and chatted with Miranda, his wife. Jacob walked past me and in one smooth motion grabbed the afghan (a word only my mom uses) off the back of his couch and laid it over me, tucking it carefully under my legs and feet. I did a double take...how did my dad get in here?