“Maybe I’m just like my father,” Prince sang the year I turned thirteen. “Too demanding,” “too bold.” At stoplights, in malls, on rides at the county fair, “When Doves Cry” rang out, voicing a consuming fear of my generation, one of the mysteries of every generation. To what extent do we choose our own path, and to what extent are our lives determined by how our parents’ impulses, foibles, and talents remix and repeat in us?
Maybe I'm Just like my Father
Maybe I'm Just like my Father
Maybe I'm Just like my Father
“Maybe I’m just like my father,” Prince sang the year I turned thirteen. “Too demanding,” “too bold.” At stoplights, in malls, on rides at the county fair, “When Doves Cry” rang out, voicing a consuming fear of my generation, one of the mysteries of every generation. To what extent do we choose our own path, and to what extent are our lives determined by how our parents’ impulses, foibles, and talents remix and repeat in us?