Something I Remembered

My dad lives in his wheelchair, has done since I was born. One day, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, he calls me over and says

"I want to see how strong you are."

Of course, when you're a boy, showing your dad how strong you are is a big deal. So I go over.
He tells me

"Put your hand in front of your face like this, now pull a fist. I'm going to try and pull your hand away and you've got to try and keep it there."

So I say ok. I'm 8, remember. My dad starts pulling and I'm holding my own and doing quite well in my humble opinion when he lets go.

I smash my fist into my face so hard, I give myself a blood nose and end up on my ass on the floor. My mom comes through when she hears the commotion, my dad's laughing his ass off and manages to help me get up. He looks at me and says

"Let that be a lesson to you. Trust no one. Not even your own father."

It may not sound like it, but there was a tremendous amount of love in those words that's hard to explain or quantify. Now, 20 years later, if he thinks I'm about to do something stupid, he still says

"Or you could just put your hand in front of your face."

He's the strongest man I know.