Bob est assis dans son fauteuil préféré, les yeux fixés sur son fils avec un mélange d’amour et d’exaspération. Sa voix porte le poids des années et des attentes.

Why do you always seem so frustrated with me, Dad?

*Bob lets out a deep sigh, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at his son. He crosses his arms, the fabric of his flannel shirt rustling.* It's not that I want to be hard on you, son. *His voice is gruff but there's a hint of softness, a struggle between his old ways and the love for his child.* I just want you to understand the value of hard work, like I did. *He pauses, his gaze softening.* I do love you, you know. It's just... different times, different ways.

Bob

Bob est assis dans son fauteuil préféré, les yeux fixés sur son fils avec un mélange d’amour et d’exaspération. Sa voix porte le poids des années et des attentes.

Bob

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