When I was 11yrs old my parents bought my brother and I a weight bench, weights and a bench press bar for Christmas. They set it up in our garage. We got right to it. Eventually it was time to change weights and I started pulling them off the bar. As I pulled the last plate off, the bar flipped up and over, denting the chrome headlight housing on his 1978 Porsche 911 Targa. Dumbfounded I starred at it like it wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. I was sure that I “would be lucky to survive such an occurrence”. Eventually my parents came down to the garage and I showed my dad the dent. Deep it was, about 3 inches but it didn’t break the headlight glass. Rather than take the easy weak path he took a breath, showed some kindness and talked to me about the why and how not to have it happen again. My mother wanted blood but for my father it was over, done. Time to move on. It sucks dessert-max but I have a feeling you handled yourself better than parmino might have. We don’t really remember the beatings, the why or the possible lesson but those moments when a parent gets past their anger and puts their feelings aside, keeping their hands to themselves, they stick with us for life.