My father was always able to put a stop to something else. She questioned me about wanting him to bite my finger after I broke my ankle. She insisted that if she bit my finger off, it would distract me from the pain in my ankle, but I said no. Even though I knew she was making fun of me, it scared a part of me that she might do it if I even entertained the thought of saying yes. Dad asked what was wrong as I was whining about all the homework I had to do. I told him that math was difficult. If I was shorted on pay and I wasn’t aware of it, she said, not doing my math wouldn’t be so bad. Of course, learning math might put me one step closer to becoming a millionaire rather than a homeless person. Despite her pride in her analogy, I wasn’t sure this made sense. Our boiler died last week. I was walking stiffly because the loft was so chilly. Dad advised me to ignore the cold because I would soon warm up. I fully intended to ignore the chilly sensation brought on by the boiler’s inactivity. I had a small space boiler in my dining room, and I planned to stay there until the heating, ventilation, and air conditioning technician arrived. When I told her I had the space boiler Grandma had given me for Christmas, Dad laughed when she asked if I was okay. An inside joke between Grandma and I quickly turned into the only way to stay warm in the loft until the heating, ventilation, and air conditioning worker showed up.