He was angry, and knocked his fist, with thirty years worth of fighting experience, on top of my head. My Father was angry because he yearned for me to behave like a child, but in essence, I act too much like an adult. After receiving the hit, I obediently listened to his sermon. During times like those, I felt their affection toward me, a little violent but you can call it tough love, and every time, instead of feeling apologetic, I felt joy. But there was an unexpected result in this failure.