But there are the other times, when voters confuse you with your dad. Or worse - believe Dad died.

During his first run for the U.S. Senate in 1992, Bob Bennett was stumping in southern Utah when he met a voter who mistakenly confused him with his father, longtime Utah Sen. Wallace Bennett.

"Bob Bennett - I thought he was dead," the voter said. Bennett laughs at the memory. Wallace Bennett was, in fact, very much alive.

Despite that voter's mistake, Bennett went on to win, placing his family in the ranks of an American political tradition, where first fathers and then sons or daughters or even cousins follow similar paths to elected office. The Utah Bennetts are not yet a political dynasty the likes of the Massachusetts Kennedys or the Bushes from Texas and Connecticut. But every political family starts somewhere.

And having a father in politics is a good place to start.

The 2004 election provides several examples of fledgling or well-established Utah political dynasties on the Nov. 2 ballot. Two of deceased former Gov. Scott Matheson's sons are running - Scott Jr. for the office his father held and Jim for a third term in Congress. Like his father before him, Jon Huntsman Jr. also is vying for governor. And Jenny Wilson - daughter of former Salt Lake City Mayor Ted Wilson - is campaigning for a seat on the Salt Lake County Council.

It's a matter of nature and nurture, says J.D. Williams, emeritus University of Utah political science professor.

"The next generation is raised in a political milieu. They loved what their father was doing. They're proud of that example," he says. "And, it's in the genes."

There are other examples in Utah history: former Gov. Mike Leavitt is the son of former Cedar City Republican state Sen. Dixie Leavitt, an unsuccessful gubernatorial candidate. And Congressman Chris Cannon and his brother Joe, Bennett's 1992 opponent and chairman of the Utah Republican Party, are descendants of George Q. Cannon, the state's territorial delegate to Congress, and Martha Hughes Cannon, the first woman state senator in the nation.

Jim and Scott Matheson Jr. trace their political careers to long-ago dinner-table discussions. The family's Scottish crest has a Latin motto Norma and Scott Matheson Sr. made into a teaching tool: "Hope and Do." There was no expectation the two sons would run for office, but it could have been predicted.

"I grew up in a family that was interested in politics long before my dad ever ran for office," Jim Matheson says. "The more important grounding principal was the notion of public service, that you make the world a better place than when you got here."

When Scott Matheson Sr. ran for governor the first time in 1976, 16-year-old Jim silk-screened thousands of homemade bumper stickers in a trademark brown.

Scott Matheson Jr. was away at college. Now, voters around the state routinely pull him aside to tell stories about his father. "People still remember him," he says. "He impacted their lives."

A 17-year-old Bennett also worked on his father's first campaign in 1950, walking door to door, passing leaflets. Twelve years later, when his father faced a tight race with a Democratic challenger, he left his job to work as a full-time operative, speaking for his father at events, organizing meetings. In 1968, he worked on Richard Nixon's presidential campaign. The Watergate scandal tarnished his political aspirations. When the attention faded and then-Sen. Jake Garn decided not to run again, Bennett saw an opening. His father sat him down and grilled him.

"He went through a fairly long catechism of very penetrating questions - about my financial situation, my family situation, my stamina," Bennett says. "In the end, he said, 'I don't think you have anything to lose.' "

Bennett's father died a year after he was elected.

On the heels of history: Utah's political legacies - detractors might call the phenomenon electoral nepotism - are not unusual, says Stephen Hess, George Washington University professor. Hess, the author of America's Political Dynasties: From Adams to Kennedy, says American politics is rife with examples of father-son political duos, starting most notably with John Adams and John Quincy Adams, the second and sixth presidents of the United States.

About 10 percent to 15 percent of members of Congress have some political predecessor who cleared the way for them, Hess says. Rhode Island Sen. Lincoln Chafee, former Vice President Al Gore and U.S. House Democratic leader Nancy Pelosi all followed on their fathers' heels. New Jersey Rep. Rodney Frelinghuysen is the sixth generation in his family to represent the state in Congress. And a new twist on the political family dynamic is emerging: wives like Mary Bono who succeed husbands who have died in office.

In many ways, politics is a family business, says Kelly Patterson, Brigham Young University Political Science Department chairman. "It's like the car dealership or the grocery store that stays in the family."

But the public has a hand in continuing political dynasties, too. Hess says American voters repeatedly elect candidates with familiar names.

"It's a brand name. It's just like going into a drug store to buy Crest toothpaste," he says. "You're attracted to a name that's given you good service in the past."

But, Hess says, the political privilege ends there. Both of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt's sons made it to Congress but were unsuccessful in their bids for other offices.

"The name gets you the first rung on the ladder. What happens then is, they're really on their own. They have to prove themselves," Hess adds.

Living up to the name: Jim Matheson says his father's two terms in office made his entry into politics easier, but only at first.

"When I first ran for office, my name helped get me in the door. But that's all it did," says Jim Matheson. "I had to create an opportunity to sell myself."

Jon Huntsman Jr. agrees. In fact, he says, sometimes the name makes running more difficult. "I walk into a room and people look at me cross-eyed and say, 'Tell me why you're worthy'," he says. "Unlike a newcomer, I've got to work twice as hard to prove I'm worthy of the name and I'm not just an interloper."

Rather than name recognition, Scott Matheson Jr. touts the intellectual and philosophical training his mother and father - he still calls him "the guv" - instilled in him at that dinner table. But his campaign is openly trying to tap the cache of the family name, with an internal "legacy slogan" contest. One finalist: "Matheson. Back by popular demand."

Matheson's popular father left office in 1984 after two terms. But Bennett's political legacy was even more distant. After four terms, Wallace Bennett chose not to run for re-election in 1974. At the time, his son was embroiled in speculation that he was the Watergate scandal's "Deep Throat" who spoke to Washington Post reporters. He chose to wait for another chance. He almost waited too long. By the time he decided to run, his father's name had not appeared on a Utah ballot for 24 years.

"The expected boost that I thought I would get really wasn't there," Bennett says. "Every voter under 40 had never had an opportunity to vote for Wallace Bennett."

Money and beyond: Beyond the psychological impact of name recognition and a built-in entree into partisan circles, political families can provide a financial cushion for their progeny. Hess notes the connection between America's famous political families and their wealth.

But, he says, that is changing as prominent black and Latino politicians who come from less well-to-do backgrounds are elected.

Of all the Utah candidates, Huntsman's family resources are most evident. The candidate, who twice served as U.S. ambassador and was head of the Envision Utah managed growth advocacy group, also is the oldest son of a Fortune 500-ranked industrialist. Huntsman family members or companies have poured $900,000 into his $2.5 million campaign bank account.

At the same time he is benefiting from his high-profile family's name and money, Huntsman also apparently inherited his father's political opponents. In 1988, Jon Huntsman Sr. decided to challenge incumbent Republican Gov. Norm Bangerter. He stayed in the race for a month before dropping out. This year, the former governor served as campaign chairman for Nolan Karras, Huntsman's Republican primary election opponent.

While the Republican nominee insists his father is friends with the former governor and the Karras-Bangerter connection transcends that 1988 race, he says, "I inherited half of my father's friends, but all of his detractors."

Identity matters: Coming from a political family poses other pitfalls. While the candidates acknowledge taking advantage of their roots, they also attempt to create an identity distinct from their fathers' and, in the case of the Mathesons, from each other.

Bennett says some skeptics scoffed at him for hanging onto his father's coattails in that 1992 race. "There are some who say you're simply trying to trade on your father's name," he says.

In Huntsman's case, while the son retraces the father's political aspirations, Jon Huntsman Sr. was ever-present at the Republican convention and has been at virtually every one of his son's debates.

"I've stayed out of this political thing," Huntsman says. "It's really important for Jon to be his [own] person. If I've gone to an event, I've tried to sit in the back, keep my mouth shut and leave early. I've watched George Bush Sr. and he's pretty good at that."

The Mathesons - whose father died suddenly of multiple melanoma cancer in 1990 - are keeping a scrupulous distance between their campaigns. The novelty of two brothers running for office in the same year might appeal to voters, Jim Matheson says. But he would rather be judged independently of his father and brother.

"Maybe my name helped get me in the door," he says. "But ultimately, the voters size you up for who you are. I'm happy I'm here on my own credentials."