We become our parents

Well folks, if you haven't realized this before, we really do become our parents. Now, I don't necessarily consider this to be a bad thing. I consider it a compliment to be called my father's son. But there is an aspect of this that I find troubling. I have always considered that one of my greatest character traits was my taste in music (which might be troubling in and of itself). I think I have a pretty good handle on what is "good" music and what is "bad" music. But I have also indulged in my share of guilty pleasures (ABBA, Themes from James Bond Movies, the original "Lady Marmalade"). So, I have a new guilty pleasure thanks to my father. When I woke up this morning with "Cracklin' Rosie" stuck in my head (who knows how it got there), I realized that I kind of like Neil Diamond. You don't know how painful it is to admit that, but the truth must be spoken. As a Red Sox fan, I can justify liking "Sweet Caroline," but I don't think there is any way to justify my blasting "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show" and dancing like a fool. Now don't get me wrong, he isn't nor ever will be my favorite, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Blast you, Mr. Diamond. Blast you.