My dad never said “I love you.”
Not to me, anyway.
There was a time when dads, as a rule, didn’t say “I love you” to their children. That was just the way things were done.
It’s not like I didn’t know he loved me.
My dad taught me to love reading and basketball. He taught me that the best beer must be properly chilled and the best practical jokes must be properly executed. (My practical jokes would make my dad proud.)
My dad taught me to parallel park by handing me the driver’s handbook with written instructions, setting up two sawhorses in the yard, and pulling the massive old grain truck up beside them. “There. Park it between those saw horses. You won’t hurt anything and once you can parallel park the grain truck, you’ll be able to parallel park anything.” Then he left. (I think he just got into his tractor and drove back out into the field.)
He left me alone to figure it out.