I got a package in the mail today. It was a large box and fairly heavy with the weight of books and memories. It contained my father's old collection of science fiction novels and short stories. A splash of Anderson, a smattering of Philip K Dick and generous amounts of Bradbury and Heinlein. Their garish, psychedelic covers harkened back to a day when there were more free thinkers and the science fiction genre truly flourished. It made me wish I had been around back then. I envy my father the chance to live in the 60s and 70s. The music was better. It may not have been any more peaceful, but people stood up and made their opinions heard. The box also held a copy of the International Herald Tribune from January 29, 1973, the day the ceasefire was finally signed to end the Vietnam War. My father was very outspoken and very liberal. I see alot of him in me. I have very similar objections to America's actions in Afghanistan. Thank goodness that one was only around for a blink of an eye.

I've been wanting to read more science fiction lately, and when my father was visiting his parents recently, he remembered that he had all these books lying around. I leapt on the chance to read them. I really appreciated him handing them down to me. More and more I find that I'm a lot like him. I'm becoming a literature geek just like he was. We listen to the same music. In fact, his tastes may be more modern than mine. The box had all his scholarship and college-related papers in it too. I got to compare our National Merit Finalist letters. Mine had arrived along with the box that morning. Strange coincidence. We're the same MBTI type. I've even considered becoming a foreign service officer, just like him. I've decided instead that I would like to go into his first career, teaching.

We share a link that is more than just genetic. (I would not mind such a link, though. He's a dead ringer for Pierce Brosnan.) We are very often on the same wavelength and are very comfortable just sitting together watching a hockey game or a baseball game. Despite my most earnest efforts, I have taken up tennis, his biggest hobby. I'm becoming a history buff. His nose is always stuck in something about World War II or the drug war in Colombia. There are times when I've wanted to strike out on my own, be my own person, but that's just my stupid pride speaking. I really can't think of anyone I'd rather be like, even if it's unintentional.

I've got to get to work reading this sci-fi...