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It is a mystery.

I've been listening to a lot of Frank Sinatra lately. My dad used to listen to him all the time. If I don't concentrate on it, I can sing along with pretty much any Sinatra song. Ask me to do it by memory and I wouldn't know where to start. Oh well, I guess.

That's okay.

It's kind of funny to think about stuff like that. Things our parents do in our childhoods that imprint on us. Condition us. I've tried to figure out all the different ways in which the actions of my parents influenced me. I know I picked up my dad's dry sense of humor. I wouldn't call my humor witty, but it's sharp. Cruel, I suppose. I hardly pay attention when I say those things. Someone will say something, I'll catch a mistake or an opportunity (which are often the same thing), and cut in with some snide remark. I forget what I say almost immediately. Oh well.

Music? My dad always had music playing. I could have picked up on that, I guess. That might be why I'm so focused on music now. Movies? My dad encouraged me to watch good movies instead of whatever new garbage was out in theaters. He always used accents when he made fun of people. Maybe that's why I can do voice imitations now. I could go on, I guess.

I can't help but wonder what things would be like if we were different. What if I hadn't heard all that Frank Sinatra when I was a kid? Would I still be a musician?

Could I have been anyone other than me?
(Sing and dance, la la la hey, la la la hey, la la la.)

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