Dad, I grew up

In addition to my clumsiness with breakable objects, I am inherently embedded with some other 'skewed-from-normal-behaviour' type characteristics as a kid (also now). From childhood I had trouble realising that I can be wrong most times in any arguement. The realisation always came quite late, usually after everyone has slept off or even very late as in the next day or even the next week. Its not that I was egoistic and never realised that I was wrong. Rather I was always consummately pipe-dreaming.

I know you folks are lurking like a Larvanaut, in highly effervescent spirits to learn more about behaviour of a Disastrous-DiDo. So read on...One of the most prominent recurring instance of such of my behaviour as a kid: I used be perched in my father's bike (just a small one who has began schooling) and used to be concentrating on non-human inanimate objects as my father drives. My eye sockets used to gleam at the sight of neon hoardings (well amnot sure if they were neon, but they were definitely hoardings). As I spot any new word that can potentially adorn my vocabulary I would be instantly elevated. But unfortunately my wakeful conscious state would be at abysmal quantities*.After we reach home, I would in a high-pitched tone exclaim 'pa, did you see that hoarding? It was about fevicol - an ultimate adhesive= spelling is A-D-E-S-I-V'. And the arguement begins that moment. My father and me would endlessly argue about the correct spelling. And the worst thing is I would stick to my spelling like a leach sticks to a juicy succulent flesh. I would just not realise that I am wrong.

The phenonmenon still exists, but I grew up. Not that I dont make spelling mistakes but, this time I am slightly more awake and the 'realisation dawns on me'

Let me demonstrate:
click on the image for a better view

* I was (am) always lost in some moony place. I havenot discovered which.


-DiDo ('YOUR EXOTIC BROWN AUTHOR')