One of my daughters is a natural mimic. Not that she doesn’t work on her talent, but when a kid–still in a car seat–can nail her grandmother’s sideways glance and sigh, we’re talking bred in the bone.
As she has gotten older, the mimicry has become more uncanny. And as I always knew she would, she has aimed her skills my way. It is one thing to recognize one’s self in one’s offspring, and quite another to hear the turns of phrase and see the gestures and realize how close one is to a joke. To be honest, there are times it stings. I don’t want to know how others see me; I want to stick with the image I have in my own head.
Most of the time I laugh. I am more taken with her skill and timing than protecting my own pride. And it is a great comfort that afterwards she almost always puts her arms around me and tells me how much she loves me.
Even if it is only to gather more material, at least I know she is paying attention.