When I was in 3rd grade, I wasn't doing so well in school. Well enough but no A's. Totally not good enough for my father, you know? So he sat me down one day and made a deal with me. If I got 3 A's in one report card, he would get me a pony. Man did I want that pony. So I worked my little ass off. Between school, being a latch key kid and having to work on the family flower farm (yes at even at 3rd grade), I finally managed to get 3 A's. I was never so happy. Man was I stoked cus now I was getting my PONY!!! Proud as can be I walked up to him and presented my report card. I think he grunted. 3 A's and all I got was a grunt. What the hell?? When I asked him about the pony - about what he had said - he replied that he had never said that. He had never said that. And my Mom? Well I asked her about it last year. She says she never remembers that happening. I'm 35 now so it has been a while. But still.

Never confronted my dad with it either. You just didn't do that in my family. He was the all powerful King of the house. Who ruled with an iron fist at times - litterally. Oh my god, talking about iron fists... Have you ever been poked by your parent? I mean really poked. See my dad was a fisherman and a farmer. His hands and fingers were scared and tough and rough and I swear they were made of wood. Like his fingers looked fat but they were thick with muscle. And he'd get mad at us - me really. And he'd reach out with that stump like index finger and poke me really hard on my forehead or on the side of my head. "Think!" or "Get it into that head of yours!" was always acompanied by it. The "Think" was always preferable because more than one word meant more pokes in the head.