Becoming HERM

I've always been compared to my father for various reasons, and to be completely honest, I've always considered that an honor. My dad's an amazing guy, and I hope to measure up to his hulking example one day. For years, family members have poked fun at me for being my dad's "mini-me". I would vehemently deny the label, but quietly, I delighted in the comparison. My father's moral fabric is of the highest quality, and his hairline has yet to show any signs of receding.

I admit, the allegations of our uncanny similarities are not unwarranted. Among other things, I inherited my father's appearance more than any other child, his zeal for tennis and handball, and his obsession with politics and history. Yes, one could say that the apple fell not far from the tree in our case. But beyond the obvious correlations, four events have occurred in the last 48 hours that have made me realize that, with age, and now more than ever, I'm evolving into a Herm-it.

1. The Shoes

I just got a new pair of gym shoes. Now, you might not think that's a big deal, but they happen to be New Balance gym shoes. For those of you who were previously unaware of the product, I'm convinced that they were made with nerdy old men in mind for their primary consumer (why do I wear them? Comfort, not style). My dad's been wearing them for as long as I can remember, and I've been wearing them for longer than I care to admit. So why am I just now drawing the comparison? Well, I was walking to the gym on Friday in my new New Balances, and I caught a reflection of me in a glass door. With my new shoes that seemed to scream "resting home!" with every step, shorts that were just a tad too short, and a Utah State Aggies t-shirt, I couldn't tell me from the old man himself.

To my credit, I haven't started wearing the New Balances around town or on vacation the way he does. Just look at any photograph taken of he and my mother on vacation - Bahamas, Europe, South America - and you'll see my dad wearing pleated khakis, a polo shirt, and a pair of white and navy blue New Balances. Think I'm exaggerating? The proof is in the pudding.

The elements are all in place: shirt, pants, shoes.

The polo-khaki-New Balance ensemble is perfect for any occasion!

Don't let the blue color fool you. Them's 're khakis.

With such a stylish wardrobe, why WOULDN'T you want to impress the attractive airport employee with a few sit-ups while you wait for your plane to begin boarding?

2. The Career

It seems only natural that my passion for history and politics would translate into a job in that arena. Teaching these subjects over the past year and a half has been a priceless experience, but yesterday morning, I received an e-mail from a law school saying that I had been accepted into it's program. They even offered me a partial scholarship to boot. Now, it was just my safety school, so it wasn't like I was banging pots or speaking in tongues with excitement or anything. But the mere fact that it happened reminded me that I am now ready and increasingly excited to follow in my father's footsteps, get my J.D., and then spend the rest of my life serving my country, family, and fellow man, just like my dad.

3. The Drink

With the New Year, I resolved to give up candy and soda. I started to notice that my metabolism, once a tenacious machine that could turn bacon fat into weight loss faster than I could spit, has started to resemble a tired old man feeding ducks at the park. My body just doesn't absorb fat and sugar like it used to, so I decided to eliminate the junk food (not bacon, of course. That would be heresy. Just the sugars).

Celeste and I were at one of our favorite burger joints (Cook Out, baby!) when I ordered my first pink lemonade instead of my usual Sprite or milkshake. After drinking it entirely, Celeste and I discussed how there was way more sugar in that lemonade than there would have been in a can of diet soda.

"Diet soda?" said I. "I've never bought a diet soda. The only reason I've ever drank diet soda is because my dad consumes it like a diabetic consumes insulin, and as kids we were obsessed with pop, regardless of its quality or flavor." For dad it was like insulin. For us it was like cocaine.

My dad in his youth.

"Well, it's probably a heck of a lot better for you than that lemonade you just drank," Celeste responded.

Three nights later (last night), she came home from the grocery store with a 12-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. I drank one with dinner, well aware that I was as I did, my genes and DNA strands were mutating with a fierce aggression. Part of me tried to resist; tried to convince the firing synapses in my brain that it was no good - a bad match. But the contents of the can continued to drain and mingle with the fluids of my system until the can was completely empty. The worst part of this twisted chemistry experiment? I liked it. In fact, I'm having one right now.

4. The Team

My dad's been taking me to USU Aggie games since before I can remember. Many of my earliest childhood memories were at Romney Stadium or the Dee Glenn Smith Spectrum. I accompanied my father to countless games, including the 1993 Silver Bowl in Las Vegas, the 1996 Humanitarian Bowl in Boise, and several Big West Tournaments at UNLV. The son of the former USU Student Body and Big Blue Club President, I was born to bleed Aggie blue.

This has made living in North Carolina difficult at times. Not only because I don't get to see the games in person like I used to, but also because there's no way for me to listen to the games over the radio. The occasional Aggie game will be televised on ESPN, but woe is us, we can't afford cable with our meager salaries.

Therefore, over the past year and a half, I've gotten into the habit of sitting at my desk glued to my computer screen, watching the score from Aggie games be updated in 30-second intervals by ESPN.com. For the average person, this is quite possibly the most boring activity known to man. I literally stare at a computer screen that offers me no pictures, no video, and no sound - just numbers - to see if my team has more numbers than the other team.

Last night's game against New Mexico State was huge for a lot of reasons, the main one being that there's a darn good chance USU will be ranked in the top 25 this week with the victory. As midnight rolled around, I finally gave into sleep and went to bed. The Aggies had a comfortable lead and I had meetings early this morning. So I conceded to sleep, confident that we would win, keep our impressive winning streak alive, and crack the top 25 come Monday.

But in the recesses of my mind, as my body lie motionless and the rhythmic pace of my deep, slumbering breaths filled our dark room, a nightmare came upon me. I dreamt that New Mexico State had come back in the second half. I was in the stands watching, horrified at the prospect of losing to our hated conference rival. There were only a few seconds left in the game, and Utah State had a slim 2-point lead. New Mexico State inbounded the ball to their all-star Troy Gillenwater. Gillenwater launched a deep ball from well beyond the 3-point line. As the ball floated in mid-air, suspended in slow motion, the red light of the buzzer kicked on, and a loud horn signaled the end of the game. 10,000 terrified fans, including myself, watched the ball as it came closer and closer to the basket. Time and space seemed to disintegrate, and all that was left was that ball, moving on its journey to triumph or tragedy. Then, after what seemed like minutes, the ball fell through the basket with perfect trajectory, kicking up the net without bothering to touch the backboard or rim. Chaos ensued as the New Mexico State team rushed the court to hoist up their champion, and fans began to curse and spit and shake their fists at the heavens. I was ready to weep my way through sorrow when, quite suddenly, my face lifted off my pillow, and I found myself in our silent, dark bedroom once again.

I immediately stood up, walked over to the window, and grabbed my phone. The clock read 3:20 a.m., but my mind was as sharp as a butcher's meat cleaver. With pedantic accuracy and purpose, I finger-tapped my way to my ESPN.com and summoned the final score from last night's game. I exhaled heavily and my heart rate normalized as I saw that the Aggies of USU had, in fact, pulled out the victory, a solid 59-49 win in front of a national audience.


So what does this have to do with my dad? Well, not much at first glance. Sure, he was at the game, and was cheering the way he always did. But then this morning I was thinking about it, and I thought to myself: "Who, besides myself, has probably had nightmares about the Aggies losing something as trivial and eternally meaningless as a basketball game?"

Only one person came to mind: my dad.