When I was a child, my mother told me I’d grow up to be just like her. She said it to me in a tone that let me know I’d dread what I experienced once the change happened.
Now, I’m “grown up,” and, as she predicted, I am exhibiting more and more characteristics that initially belonged to my mom alone. As I get older, not only do I look more and more like her, but I act like her, too.
One and the same
Four traits stand out to me when I think about how I’m becoming a carbon copy of her.
The first one is the most prominent one – the one that’s most visible to others: when we’re stressed, we put our head between our hands and rub our hair.
I first noticed my mom do this when she drove, such as when merging onto a rush hour freeway or when we were at a confusing roundabout. From the corner of my eye in the passenger seat, I’d see her subconsciously make that move. When I started driving at sixteen, that habit was also instilled in me. I’m reminded of my mom each time it happens.

The second one is my favorite: her laugh. We have the same sense of humor and laugh at the same things. Not only do we laugh at the same time, but the sounds of our laughter are so indistinguishable that it’s impossible to tell our laughter apart. They’re identical. Anyone between us will be met with a surround sound of our giggles.
Next up is our interest in conspiracy theories. My mom has always loved telling me about the ideas that pop up in her head, no matter how outlandishly impossible they seem. She tells others her stories and they don’t believe her, nor do they want to listen. She tells me, though, and we delve even further into the topic and I believe it, too. Now, I come up with my own theories about life and the universe and I know I’m safe to tell her.


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