So, I’m about 10 or 11, working on a pinewood derby car, or something else stupid, it doesn’t matter. My father’s watching me, as I proceed to bang on the end of a screwdriver with a hammer. My father didn’t freak out, like many fathers would when observing a violation of the rules of tools of that magnitude, all he said was, “Well, I see you don’t allow yourself to be constrained by the functional fixedness of real-time solution objects.”
I loved my Dad.
