The Siren Song of the Patio Swing

Was there a certain moment in my life that I turned into my father?
I don't have his nose (thank goodness!) and of course, I happen to be female. But otherwise, the similiarities between us, as I get older, I find rather disconcerting.
My knees crack when I climb the stairs, just like his did.
I have lost a significant amount of hearing just like he did.
When I am concentrating, the tip of my tongue sticks out, just like his did.
And now, when late afternoon arrives, I find myself eyeing the porch swing on our deck and thinking that little else in life sounds as good as a nap--just like he used to do on a lounge chair by the pool. It's like the siren song in the tales of the Greek gods . . . . it calls my name softly, enticingly, seductively. "Come and visit for just a moment, Tami. You deserve it . . you've worked hard." I try to resist. I put on loud music. I get involved in another writing project. And yet, somehow I end up out on the deck staring at the soft cushions, feeling the gentle summer breeze and imagining the peace of a quick nap.
My dad took naps every single day that I can remember. He would come home for a long lunch from work and spend half of it eating and the other half asleep on the closest couch or other comfy spot. After he retired, it was a common sight to see him tipped back in the Laz-y-Boy, snoozing away (although he'd tell you later he never fell asleep--he was just 'relaxing for a moment.') I remember thinking I would never, ever be old enough that I had to take a nap--that was for old people and babies.
Apparently, I am getting to be an old person, 'cuz boy oh boy, naps are like a treasure some days. Today, when I laid down on the patio swing and closed my eyes, I was sure I could hear my father chuckling. I blew a kiss skyward and said, "I hear you, dad. I miss you like crazy--but since I'm turning into you anyway, I know you're still around in spirit."
Crap. I'm even growing hair on my chin these days. Now that is just going TOO FAR.