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Do you remember how your father used to be?
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Always yelling. Nothing made him happy.
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Not that wood shop, not those stupid little ships in the bottle.
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Now he's happy.
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I mean, it's nice. He has a hobby.
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Ma, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but...
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...what the hell are you talking about?
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- I mean, what about you? - Me? I'm fine.
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Look, honey...
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...in an ideal world...
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...there'd be no her and your father would look like Sting.
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And I'll tell you something else: