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Don't Ask for the Thunder

When I was a high schooler, I had one special quality that would drive my father absolutely crazy: I wouldn’t get out of bed on time. He would come into my room, and happily wake me, sometimes in Spanish, and tell me it was time to get up. I would mumble and stir and he would leave. I would then immediately fall back asleep. He would come back a little later, a little less happy, and a little louder. Same result. Finally, he would come thundering in – much louder, unhappy, and sometimes with a cup of cold water. I would get up, and ironically, be irritated at him.

I have four sons. I have since been repaid. When I see my father again, I will sincerely apologize.

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