Dave & Bri often fought as teenagers.  (As a perfect little sister, this did used to distress me considerably.)  One day they were at it again, and I was unsuccessfully trying to intervene, when Dad’s tread was heard on the stairs.  You could tell by the sound of it that he was mad.  REALLY mad.  The boys fell apart, and Dave started looking frantically around the room.  Dad walked in, just in time to be met by Dave, holding a broom, and starting into a sales spiel on why Dad wanted to buy this wonderful broom.  Dad didn’t say a word.  He just listened a moment, shook his head, and turned around and went back upstairs.  I remain convinced Dave missed his calling in life.  He was born to be a used car salesman!

We were tooling down the Autobahn on our way to somewhere, when David’s attention was caught by the passenger in the truck next to us, making himself some sandwiches.  Seeing that he was being watched, he started holding items up for Dave’s approval.  Lunchmeat?  Onions?  Mustard?  Dave would nod yes or shake his head no, until the sandwich was built.  At that point, they matched their speed to ours so he could hand the sandwich over to Dad as we drove!