On the roots of my wit.

<I’m telling the students a story I feel adequately depicts my dad for legit educational purposes when this happens…>
“So then, I’m like, this tiny little 5 year-old, crying, and he asks if it hurts, and of course I say ‘Yes,’ and he says, ‘Oh, that’s funny, I didn’t feel a thing!'”
<Class laughs and exclaims unbelievingly.>
“This makes sense now, Miss V——-.”
“What makes sense?”
“Why you’re so like, sarcastic and kind of mean to us and stuff but we can totally tell that you care about us and are nice at the same time.”
“Ah, yes. I did get that magical ability from him. It probably came with the bird bones and stubbornness.”
“Like, what else did you learn from him?”
“Oh…I don’t know…oh! You know how I say ‘It’s good to have wants?'”
“That was from him?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, what a jerk! So HE’S the reason I don’t get to sit by my friends or eat in class or listen to music!”
“If you want to blame him, sure, I’m fine with that.”
“Ugh, Miss. Parents need to learn that what they teach their children affects others.”

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