Isn't it funny how things from the past just pop into your head for no apparent reason. The other day, I was on my seventeenth time of telling my son to turn down his stereo before my teeth wiggled loose and I was reminded of my own father. The rules as they apply to fathers are much different now. Fathers have lost most of the things that they once held dear. I sat down and came up with a list.

1. Swearing - When I was growing up, my dad was the only one in the house that was allowed to use swear words. I considered this a right of passage into manhood. So one day, I used a word that I had heard my dad use when he busted his knuckles working on the car. My attempt at becoming a man was met with a bar of soap and several more swear words from my dad. Not only am I not the only one in my house to swear, but my kids know words that I have never even heard of.

2. The Newspaper - In my early days, the newspaper was an item that was strictly off limits. Even though it was delivered at twelve noon, it would sit unread and untouched on the coffee table until my dad arrived home. Only after he had read the entire paper, clipped out any articles he wished to keep and told my mother to keep the car windows rolled up the next day because they were calling for rain was anyone else allowed to touch it.

This only strengthened my resolve to read the paper before my dad got to it. After all, something that was that well guarded must be fun and exciting. I was, to say the least, sadly mistaken. The paper was full of stories of war and tragedy that happened mostly in places I have never heard of and could not pronounce.

Today, the paper is public domain for the first person who gets their hands on it. By the time I get to it (I only read the comics which are always your safest bet to stave off complete depression) it has been clipped, snipped, refolded and crumbled and the part I wish to read always ends up on the bottom of a bird cage where I have to fight a surly parakeet to catch a glimpse of Garfield.

3. The Chair - All furniture in my childhood home was public seating with the exception of the recliner, also known as "Dad's Chair."

This piece of furniture was the most coveted in the entire house. Besides being the only comfortable place to sit, beside it sat the telephone and remote control. For all intents and purposes, it was a throne. From this throne, my dad dispensed fatherly wisdom, handed out sentences for crimes committed that day, and controlled television programming.

While seated in this chair, my dad gave me "the talk", yelled at the television when the Chicago Cubs made a bad play, and dispensed comfort when my best friend died.

Today, I have a chair, a wonderful creation of the reclining type. Sadly, I have only sat in it once, which was the day I picked it out at the store.

Since my chair came into the house, it has been claimed by everyone but me. Most days, the cat can be seen licking itself in areas best left unlicked, perched proudly in my chair. One day I will reclaim my chair, when the children are gone and the cat has finally over stayed its welcome. But will I be too old to enjoy it?

4. Napping - My dad is the champion of napping. If napping ever became an Olympic sport, he would surely claim the gold.

I have always believed that you could set your watch by my dad's naps. Everyday he would arrive home, sit down in his chair, read the paper, and then fall asleep. It never changed in all the years I lived at home.

Now, this was not dozing, but full on snoozing. Once he was asleep, there was nothing that would arouse him except my mother calling dinner.

It was amazing, truly it was. He slept with two children in the house. I used to chase my brother around with a running chain saw, trying to convince him to let me clip his toenails, and dad slept on. It is my theory that the house could have been on fire and as long as his chair or remote were not in danger, he would not wake up.

These days, the words father and nap don't mix. It was not until recently that I attempted to take part in the napping ritual, but thus far, I have failed.

As soon as I close my eyes, my sons swing into action. One will grab a knife and start calling the cat; while the other turns his stereo up so loud that only a Lear jet engine parked next to your ear can drown it out.