Genetic fingerprints

My mom (Hi, mom! I love you!) will always say with a shake of her head and a world-weary sigh, "You drive just like your father." And really, I owe a debt of gratitude to my Dad because I don't think I'd have had the patience to live with myself had I inherited my mother's driving habits. Although, I like to think of myself as having reached a happy medium between two extremes.

Sari's got my huge smile, abundance of hair, and love of the spotlight. Mordechai has that inquisitive nature, brilliant mind, and sweet tooth. Ada? Well, I was a really fat baby, too. But as far as I can tell, I've passed on my driving genes to all my progeny.

A sampling for the purpose of illustration:

• When the light turns green, my kids shout "Go!" even before the first honk rings out (and I live in New York!).
  
• Sari had a suggestion for me as we were creeping along the entrance ramp to the BQE today. (tangent alert: We were on our way to the ENT. Ada's getting tubes next month. What a shocker. Not.) "We need to go a different way." Not immediately grasping her meaning, I asked why. Her reply - "There's too much traffic."
• While waiting (patiently, I might add) behind another car in a left-hand turn lane as oncoming traffic whizzes by us, Mordechai grows impatient. "Beep him already!" Ah, my adorable little booster-seat driver.
• Ada doesn't add much in the way of suggestions but, whenever she cries, you can be sure she's somehow dissatisfied with my handling of the reins.

You get the picture.