Many family therapists have noticed that "apples don't fall too far from the tree" when it comes to a person's habits, likes and dislikes. We can fight it, but in the end, we become our parents. I know I am becoming my father, based merely upon my actions lately.

For instance, I discovered recently that my home has 22 light switches and six lights that work off an outlet. I know this, of course, from having turned each of the lights off every single day for the past five years, while chasing my son and daughter out the door and then following behind "saving" electricity. "Click," walk 10 feet. "Click," walk 15 feet into the next room. You get the point.

The scary part of the story, however, is not the fact that we use a gazillion watts of electricity each day or that I walk the equivalent of a mile in my house turning off lights. No. The frightening part is that I remember my father doing the same exact thing about 30 years ago, following my sister and me through the house.

Back then, I thought he was simply adhering to then-President Jimmy Carter's edict to conserve electricity. Later, my sister and I would intentionally turn lights on after he had already turned them off just to drive him berserk and make him second guess his actions. My kids will likely do the same in the wonderful bonding experience of siblings joining forces against their parents.

Dad also had a habit of giving up on professional athletes — all professional athletics, for that matter — when he was in his mid-30s.

As a teenager at the time, it was hard to understand why he was so frustrated with guys who made so much money to play a game and still had the nerve to complain about "fairness" and their "tough" life. The words "clueless" and "cry babies" were often used to describe them.

Recently I swore off professional athletics, too. In fact, it's hard to refer to the games as athletics instead of entertainment anymore. I am in my mid-30s. Do you see a strange pattern evolving?

The patterns continue.

I find myself enjoying the thought of calling golf a sport, or going swimming with the kids instead of watching the big game.

Like dad, my favorite soda now contains the name "Diet" in it.

My wardrobe now consists of sweaters, Dockers and a couple of different pairs of trendy new brown shoes, while my tennis shoes are left for walking. Walking? When did that sneak into my life? Dad walks, too, usually in his one pair of tennis shoes while wearing a sweater.

Recently, my son got himself dressed (big news for a 5-year- old). He came into my bedroom wearing brown pants, a sweater and his new brown church shoes.

"Buddy, you don't need to wear that," I said, moving toward his closet for some sweatpants, a T-shirt and tennis shoes.

"But I want to be like you, Dad," was all he said. Like father, like son ... like son? We learn everything from our parent's actions and it shapes us forever.

Sometimes you have to wonder if the apple even falls from the tree.