Here's an exerpt of my most recent post there:
Fortunately, my mom’s tendency to be over-protective was balanced by my father’s firm and Godly guidance that I grow up as a guy: wounds and scratches, broken windows, lizard-in-my-pocket, mud-on-my-cheeks, slingshot skirmishes that constitute a boy’s childhood. While my mother cleaned up my lacerated knees and made sure I had milo every morning and took my vitamins every night, my father took me to community basketball leagues and introduced me to isaws, fishballs, and bruce lee movies. While my mother attempted to inject some culture in me by enrolling me on piano lessons (I lasted for about two sessions, I think), my father took me fishing, bought me boxing gloves, made me a makeshift punching bag, and bought me a mountain bike, which left me pasted on a wall after I forgot to break while I was speed-turning on a steep slope. He even bought for me my first ever gift to a girl classmate I liked – a troll doll I never would have thought of giving to a girl. Why would you give such an ugly thing to a beautiful creature, after all?
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