Our Fathers, and Their Fathers Before Them

I just spent a half an hour talking to my father. We discussed the possible far-flung job I may have (I'll know this weekend). We talked about the strange array of people I date. We discussed how my life has no real set pattern he can discern. My father has worked every day of his life in the same company since 1966 or thereabouts. He arrived home every night of my childhood in a gray suit and carrying a nut-brown leather briefcase, fought with my mother and went to sleep. Then he did it again the next day. I thought that when I reached 20 years old I, too, would wear a suit and carry a briefcase, perhaps an early sign of social gender dysphoria, or a very, very oblivious but insightful mental commentary on my future inability to do what he did.

From today:

Father: "I have no idea what goes on in your crazy life."

Daughter: "What's so crazy? I don’t go to an office every day I'm not married and don't have kids."

Father: "Maybe you should!"

Daughter: "Maybe I shouldn't! Why should I do that? So I can be miserable like all those people?"

Father: "Misery loves company, haven't you heard that?"

Oblivious but insightful?