This Is [Nearly] 30: Signs you're turning into your dad

HE'S older, wiser and MUCH lamer than you are. But what if you're noticing his quirks in your own behaviour? Whether you like it or not, it is happening.

Things we share in common: Jethro, Floyd, the woefully inept Cleveland Browns.

ALL you could hear was coughing.

Waking up for school in the second grade is a generally straightforward affair. But when Dad is sick, nothing makes sense.

Who will fly his planes? Who will help you read Banjo Patterson for your poetry project? Who will cheer you on at rugby on the weekend? You've only just started playing and you're terrible, because you h ate being tackled and you can't figure out how to pass the ball backwards.

When you're six years old, your dad is your hero. As he should be. So, naturally, your first ever book project at school becomes about that day: The Day Dad Got Sick.

The book is selected to be read out to all the grade two classes. Not only are you casual, even a bit arrogant about it - kid CAN write - but you're proud. You want everyone to hear about your dad and the day you helped him get better so he could continue to rule the world.

This wide-eyed adulation lasts for, well, about six or so more years, until you turn into a selfish teenage a***hole. It's a hormonal thing. Suddenly, everything dad does, says and stands for is laaaaaaaaaaaame.

If he asks you about your homework, he's nagging. If he asks what you're watching, when you're clearly watching The Simpsons and want to be left the hell alone, he's in the way. If he invites you into the cockpit of his 747, where he's the captain of an international flight from Singapore to London, he's just trying to look cool in front of his buddies. OK, so it's a little bit cool, but you're not going to let him know that.

Just to clarify, Tom Cruise is not my dad.

In fairness, this mindset holds for longer than it probably should. Into your mid-20s, even. Sure, your relationship grows and you learn to communicate as adults and you get along extremely well. But the thought of turning into your father? Ugh. Pass the bucket. A recent poll on the parenting site Netmums found 32 was the average age at which people started to identify with their parents' traits. A terrifying prospect for anyone, let alone a 20something with tattoos on his arms and a fondness for red chinos.

I mean, it's not like you're entirely unidentifiable as your father's son. You both love Pink Floyd, a habit you picked up from countless nights by the record player in the 90s. You both support the Cleveland Browns, a terrible American football team in the NFL. You both love Jethro, the family's boofy black dog. And you both like to think you'd make an excellent English teacher, what with your sound command of the language and affinity for elbow-patch blazers and such.

Things we share in common: Jethro, Floyd, the woefully inept Cleveland Browns.

You've got your differences - Rowdy is 5'7, sports milk-bottle lenses and pays no more than $12 for a haircut - but you're still undeniably the same person. You've recently taken to regularly reading books (not Buzzfeed lists or Facebook updates - but books!). You don't mind a spot of paperwork - filing your tax, enrolling in a new electorate, applying to become a member of the Nespresso Club. You've adapted his patented recipe for Saturday scramblies, buy the paper just for Calvin and Hobbes and, ugh, this one's a b**** to admit, begun inserting smiley faces into text messages (:s).

"Oh, what WILL Calvin do next?"

But for all these quirks and idiosyncrasies, for all of the lame dad mannerisms you hate to admit you've inherited (twitching his mouth to one side like Rocky, saying "ah-yah-yah-yah-yahhhh" when he sighs, crossing his legs like a girl), you count yourself lucky enough to have taken on his best qualities. Loyalty. Generosity. A fierce sense of right and wrong. And the best legacy of all: The Dad Joke.

Oh and another observation: nose hair has suddenly become a thing.

I'm not nearly 30. I'm nearly dad.

Chris is celeb rating Fa ther's Day on Twitter. Please speak up, it's a bit loud in there: @christoforpaine.