"Little boxes made of ticky tacky and they all look just the same," my dad would sing in a high-pitched, almost staccato voice. He refused to live in one of those little boxes that was just like everyone else's. He sang it every time we looked at houses. He sang it when Harry and I were house hunting. He sang it most recently when I went with him to look for his new house a few months ago.
It wasn't until I started watching the TV show, Weeds, a few years ago that I realized that Little Boxes was a real song that my dad didn't make up.
It's funny how crazy I thought he was singing that song all those years ago, but at the same time thinking he was genius for coming up with it. I guess there's a part of us all that believes our parents are masterful beings, while still figuring they might be a little off their rockers.
The other day I told my dad about my belief that he created Little Boxes. He, of course, thought it was hilarious, but also had a look on his face of pride. Perhaps it was pride that his brand of crazy rubbed off on me.
He, in turn, told me that my sister confessed to him that she started yelling threats at her kids reminiscent of him and my mom. "I don't care who started it! I'm gonna finish it!" she apparently told them, along with my dad's favorite quote, "If you don't have time to do it right, how will you ever have time to do it over?" He liked that one so much, he had it framed and hung on his office wall.
It's a pretty common thing for people to say they don't want to turn into their parents. Even if mine might be or have been a little nutty, I smile when I start to do something like they did, or mutter one of their little sayings.
I, too, sing Little Boxes when I drive through one of those look-alike neighborhoods. I guess I'm working on turning into my dad. My parents aren't perfect human beings, but they are pretty awesome people. I'm cool with being a little box. After all, we are Smiths and we all look just the same.
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