My father liked
To clean the chametz out of the garbage cans, cleaned it out with a hose.
I had to then sweet up the crumbs to put it in the garbage can in the park across the street that I also smoked when I was bored
From hearing my mother make excuses for why I should go to yeshiva rather then the library, a five minute walk from my house.
Must have been because she knew my philosophic inkling to study in a proper college that formulated higher intellectual teachings then my average Talmudic debate because philosophy talked about the essence not just the lines that rhymed by themselves and got twisted with the rabbis orders of whole I have come to ignore.
Or maybe I was just ignoring my parents?