I was four years old and the moment I’d been waiting for all day had arrived. Preschool was over. I ran outside and looked down the rough concrete ramp, looking for my father. There he was! I started to sprint down the ramp, but my foot caught on the ground and I fell down hard. The concrete was like sandpaper on my knees; they were thoroughly skinned. I did what any little kid would do: I started crying. It hurt! Nothing strange about that. The strange thing about the experience — the reason the memory has stuck with me — is how my father responded. He started laughing.
	My dad has Asperger’s syndrome. He’s still a human, but he is pretty weird. Living with him alternates between normal, frustrating and infuriating. Still, he’s my dad and he has had a massive influence on me. Just not in the usual way.
	One of the primary symptoms of Asperger’s is an inability to empathize with other people. People with the disorder may consciously recognize emotions but still be unable to sympathize. This describes my dad perfectly. His behavior is one of the reasons that I try to be empathetic; I know how it feels when someone is not. Essentially, his emotional cluelessness has made me a kinder person.
	This describes a common theme in my life: Bruce (my father) as the counter role model. A fairly reasonable strategy for surviving day-to-day life is to think, “What would Bruce do?”, and then to do the opposite.