I have always been a "slight" trouble-maker, to which many of my close friends and family can attest to.
Between a mailbox incident and newspaper dispenser incident in high school, an arrest in undergrad, and other various indecorous activities, I caused my parents plenty of headaches (I thought about being more specific, but the internet can be an evil thing!).
Most parents would've reacted in a similar manner as my mom: by yelling, hitting, throwing various objects at me (the most vivid memory involving a dictionary) and by taking away some type of freedom.
However, my dad was always the exact opposite.
All he could focus on at those times was either correcting the wrong I did or by figuring out what he needed to do to get his son out of trouble. All he cared about was taking care of me first and foremost, no matter how stupid I acted.
My mom used to get so mad at him for not getting mad at me, but I think he knew that my mom took on the brunt of that responsibility and there would always be time to discipline me later. And I think in the back of my mind, I always knew that Daddy had my back, no matter what.
He once told me that he didn't understand when parents allowed their children to fall down when they made a mistake so that they could "learn from it"; my dad said it was his responsibility to catch me before I fell. I wouldn't be where I am today without him because, otherwise, I'd be lying in a very deep hole, bruised and beaten, if he hadn't caught me those many times I had a chance to fall.