My father is a hard man. He doesn't think like most people; doesn't much give a damn about societal niceties. He was a career Navy man, but I think that he's always been like this; it's his father's fault. I see his siblings, and I know that the military had very little to do with shaping his personality.
I don't like him very much. I don't respect him, either, but I realized last month that I do love him. I wish I didn't. Terrible, but true. But I must admit, having such a rough childhood has made me capable. I know that when emergencies arise, I can deal with it. I've had to, to survive. And I know that I can at least fend for myself in situations that some women would be hopelessly lost in. I can change a tire. Hell, I can change the brake pads on my car, given enough light. I know how to defend myself against a mugger- and I know that in most cases, it's smarter to just give the mugger what he wants. Physical property is not worth my safety. If someone around me is in a medical emergency, I know how to deal. More importantly, I know how to deal with the people around me having hysterics. I suppose, for these small things, at least, I should be grateful to my dad.
My mom was a lounge singer when she was young. She was basically forced into it, despite her extreme shyness, because of her family's financial instability. She never went to college, but she's so smart. She loves wholeheartedly. She always wants to help.
She's also stubborn to a fault. She has a short temper when she's with the family (I got that from both of them- yay).She frequently gets hysterical over my dad's faults. She can be both obsessively perfectionist and randomly lazy (shoot, I got that one from her, too). Sometimes, I just want her to stop talking. But for all the things about her that bug me, I always know that she loves me.
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