When I was younger, I noticed that my father always wore a watch that never ticked. Its hands were splayed out, teasing in their paralyzed state. At the time, I was too young to understand its importance. I asked him why he always wore it, despite its obvious defects. He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in unabashed delight. He said, "I love this watch more than anything else in the world, heck, even more than your own mother." I was perplexed and terribly appalled at the time. How could he love something that couldn't even reciprocate his emotions? How could he love something that couldn't return his love, like my mother could? I felt as though I had to know the watch's secret of obtaining love so easily. My father allowed me to borrow it for the day, laughing at my goal when I spoke of it to him. He grinned, his mustache dancing as he said, "Fine, have your fun. Just don't break it, remember I love that thing more than anything else in the world." I experimented with it the entire day, searching for what was so special about the rusted piece of metal. I grew tired quickly, falling asleep with it on my desk. I was excited to start another set of tests, however I could never apply them to the watch, for my mother had thrown it out the next day. It seemed she was too stricken with anger to let her feelings of inadequacy to pass. I would follow her footsteps someday.