GAIL WHITE A twist on old saying: like father, like husband

My husband was born the day after St. Patrick's Day. For obvious reasons, his name is Patrick.
My father was born St. Patrick's Day, likewise named Patrick.
No doubt, that set of circumstances is usual. But that's only the half of it...
My husband's father was born the Fourth of July. His name was Robert.
My father's father was also born July 4th and named Robert.
The way I see it, I had a two-generational date with destiny. I had no choice but to marry this man!
Birthdays are not the only thing my husband and father have in common.
There are times when I stand in awe and disbelief at their similarities in behavior.
Tractor: My suspicions that my husband was like my father started when we bought our house.
A lawn tractor came with the property. My husband was thrilled with the acquisition.
Every night, he would fire up the mower and cut the grass.
I started to call him the Tractor Man.
One day, he ran out of grass. There was simply no where to mow.
So, he put to tractor in high gear and took off down the road, ball cap flapping in the breeze, waving to neighbors as he went.
"You're a hick!" I yelled after him. It was then that I was reminded of my father's tractor moment.
My father was a tractor man too.
For some reason, still unknown to me, my father owned two John Deere tractors and a Hoyt Clydewell -- one of the earliest forms of motor transportation.
These were not lawn tractors, however. These were old, beast, workhorse tractors used to plow fields a long, long time ago.
My father took off down the road on the Hoyt Clydewell one day.
The wheels of the Hoyt were made of steel -- no rubber way back then. The heavy, sharp, metal traction slats dug into the road pavement leaving indentations -- a permanent reminder of his joy ride.
The scene was remembered by neighbors (and the road) for years to come.
Shower: I called my sister one day. "April, you won't believe what Pat told the kids," I said in shock. "When you take a shower, wet down, turn off the water to lather, then turn it back on to rinse."
"Yeah..." April said, somewhat bored.
"That's what Dad used to say," I hammered into the phone.
"Yeah..." she said, with a "what-did-you-expect" tone.
That's when I realized that she knew long ago what I was just realizing.
I had married my father.
Cars: My father bought one new car.
"I will never buy a new car ever again!" I remember him saying.
My husband bought one almost-new car. "I will never have a car payment again," he said.
Neither one ever has.
Words: One of the most intriguing aspects of these two men is their inability to repeat words accurately.
As a young child, I remember telling my father that he was reading the words to a book incorrectly.
Singing in the car, Dad would bellow, "I've been working on the railroad, all day long..."
"Dad, it's 'all the live-long day,'" we would correct.
My husband has the same affliction.
We have friends whose names are Ed and Pam Miyagishima. (Me-a-gish-ma) No doubt, a difficult name.
Pat calls them Ed and Pam Mitsubishi.
He told me the other day that friends of ours had bought a new dog. "It's an Isuzu," he informed me.
I smiled at him.
I have been training my whole life to understand this man.
There has been a double-generational destiny entwining my mind to his.
"Oh, a Shih-tzu," I respond with full certainty in my decoding. "Nice breed."
Then, because of the comfort that has evolved over two-generations of preparation, I ask, "What did they name it?"
gwhite@vindy.com