Dad.

Dad wasn't pleased. He accepted it.

My dad...I didn't explain. Dad was...well...is...different. Yeah, different a good word. He was raised differently, he's very smart, so smart in fact that I never fully understood everything he said to me. He's a psychoanalyst. A type of doctor. Google it.
We rarely got along. He was even what my friends would refer to as...weird? He had a short temper. But he was always there for me. When mommy said no, daddy, 90% of the time said yes.
We had so many fights.
Fights where I was scared, I hid behind the bed.
He cursed me out, I cursed back.
He insulted me, I insulted him back.
I called him names, he did it back to me.
On many occasions, I stated that, "I hated him".
He always asked the weirdest questions.
We went to the movies, he would always ask me what character I could relate to, why I made this decision, what I had learned from this movie.
I always had to teach him to use the computer. I had to set movies up for him, teach him to use the camera on his cell phone, explain to him what texting was, check his voice mail for him...Technologically-challenged as I would call it.
Throughout my whole pregnancy, it was a constant fight of who's name the baby would have. He didn't understand it was my choice. He always asked the weirdest questions, like how did it feel to be pregnant, did I feel as if I was "one" with the baby, could I relate to her? What the pain felt like, it was just weird to me.
Anyways. That's my dad.