Strong Verbs Are Just Better

Y'know, my Dad's not much of a talker. He'll talk your ear off if you ask him about, oh, the second world war or the invention of the assembly line or the works of Steven Jay Gould, to say nothing of installation-free software, vintage aeroplanes, and guitars. Personal questions, though, never really come onto the radar. This has at times annoyed or frustrated me, although right now I can't remember when or why. The speed at which he used to flee if he should chance upon Mum, Joel and/or I discussing such educational matters as condoms or menstruation was highly entertaining- faster even than the speed of retreat should he stumble upon a theological conversation, which is odd, Dad being a lifelong atheist.

At some point it occurred to me that our schooling must've been particularly tortuous for Dad, an atheist of the leave-well-enough-alone variety, given how much religious shit we copped. Mum was always justifiably proud of me for standing my ground, but it must've been extra infuriating for Dad to stand by and watch one lot of religious nutters give his daughter shit for not being the right *kind* of nutter.

Anyway, that was a bit of a tangent. Point of this post was supposed to be that my Dad has always spoilt me to high heaven and let me do my own thing. While I always appreciate being spoilt, I don't always remember to appreciate the other half of the equation. Then I read about things like this, and I realise how very lucky I am. Thanks Dad!