When I was a child I ran in to things…a lot. Every time I ran into something my father – kind, sensitive man that he was – would immediately check on the condition of…the thing I ran in to.
Dad: Is the table ok?
Dad: The wall! Is that a dent?
Dad: How’s the chair? Did it suffer any damage?? That’s my favorite chair! Call a carpenter!!
…my father had a bend toward the dramatic which has not lessened with age, as you can see below.
End result: To this day I apologize to furniture when I bump in to it.
I’m not sure if this makes me the strange one or him, but either way the genetics don’t play out well for you two…