Like my husband and I, my parents are as different as night and day. My mom (before her stroke), liked to talk a lot and was as noisy as I am at parties. My dad, on the other hand, didn’t really talk much—he was the quiet type before my mom had a stroke. But oddly enough, it was my dad who gave me a lot of sermons when I was growing up.
My mom preferred giving the silent treatment, while Dad could go on for hours lecturing me about something I did wrong—or about to do wrong. So it’s really no wonder I got a lot of anecdotes from him. He liked making metaphors to explain things, and I have to admit sometimes I couldn’t help but do the same :P
But among the many metaphors and anecdotes my dad gave, one sticks out as my favorite. Continue reading this entry…
