I want a tutor,” Layla said. “It would make doing homework so much easier.”
“Me too,” said Kaitlyn. “If Layla gets one, I get one.”
“No daughter of mine will ever have a tutor,” Dad said.
“What if we’re failing a course?” asked Layla.
His graying eyebrows drew together. “If you fail a single course, young lady, we will pull you out of school and get you a job scrubbing toilets for the rest of your life.
Joshie has always told Post Human Services Staff to keep a diary, to remember who we were because every moment, our brains and synapses are being rebuilt and rewired with maddening disregard for our personalities, so that each year, each month, each day, we transfer into a different person, an utterly unfaithful iteration of our original selves, of the drooling kid in the sandbox. But not me. I am still a facsimile of my early childhood. I am still looking for a loving dad to lift me up and brush the sand off my ass and to hear English, calm and hurtless, fall off his lips.
Gary ShteyngartTag: love childhood personality diary father dad
A best friend is the only one that walks into your life when the world has walked out.
Shannon L. AlderTag: friendship pain love acceptance family sorrow child hurt adversity cruelty illness endings support trials caring rejection mom tough-times dad breakups mental-disorders best-friend spouse dumped misunderstood-fights support-system true-friendship
It's rally bad when dads cry.
Sarah OcklerHell, there're already too many psychologists; too many everythings. Too many engineers, too many chemists, too many doctors, too many dentists, too many sociologists. There aren't enough people who can actually do anything, really know how to make this world work.
When you thing about it; when you look at the way it really is; God, we've got - well, let's say, there's 100 percent. Half of these are under eighteen or over sixty-five; that is not working. This leaves the middle fifty percent. Half of these are women; most are so busy having babies or taking care of kids, they're totally occupied. Some of them work, too, so let's say we're down to 30 percent. Ten percent are doctors or lawyers or sociologists or psychologists or dentists or businessmen or artists or writers, or schoolteachers, or priests, ministers, rabbis; none of there are actually producing anything, they're only servicing people. So now we're down to 20 percent. At least 2 or 3 percent are living on trusts or clipping coupons or are just rich. That leaves 17 percent. Seven percent of these are unemployed, mostly on purpose! So in the end we've got 10 percent producing all the food, constructing the houses, building and repairing all the roads, developing electricity, working in the mines, building cars, collecting garbage; all the dirty work, all the real work.
Everybody's just looking for some gimmick so they don't have to actually do anything. And the worst part is, the ones who do the work get paid the least.
My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.
Jim ValvanoTag: love faith believe parenting gift father dad believe-in-yourself believed
Will your dad freak if I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.
Kim HarrisonTag: kiss good-bye freak dad ask
... family men, Claude."
"Then why aren't they home with their families?"
"You haven't been listening to me, Claude. It takes lots of honey to raise a family these days..." No, it isn't even that, these teddy bears don't like honey as much as they think they do. They think they're supposed to like it, the way they're supposed to like women and children. They think they're supposed to act like real grizzlies, but they don't feel it. You can't blame them, they just don't have it inside them. What they have, what they love most, is their memories: how the Coach used to shout niceworkpal whenever they caught the big ball or somehow hit the little one, how Dad used to wink when they caught one of his jokes, how when they repeated them he almost died laughing, so they told them and told them - if they told one really well he might do it. They memorized all the conversations verbatim, that about the pussies and the coons, the homers and the balls, the cams and the bearings. They're still memorizing. You can see them almost anytime you're out driving, there in the slow car just ahead, the young man at the wheel, the old man talking, the young man leaning a little to the right in order to hear better, the old man pointing out the properties, the young man looking and listening earnestly, straining to catch the old man's last word, the last joke verbatim, the last bit of know-how about the deals and the properties and the honey. When he thinks he's learned all he can from the old man, he'll shove him out of the car. You watch, next time you're out driving. "...these
are the cream, Claude." These are the all-American fairies.
Tag: fathers father dad masculinity male 1950s american-male
Listen to me, kitten. Win or lose, you’ll always be a princess to me.
Kiera CassMy clutch and wrap had fallen to the floor
because both my arms were around his neck, my body was plastered to
his, one of his arms was tight around my back, the other hand had
slid in my dress and down and was cupping the cheek of my ass, skin
to skin (I was wearing a thong, which was a smart move on my part
not only to avoid panty lines but because his warm, strong hand
cupping my ass felt freaking great)
when I heard my father clear his throat.
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