Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.

Now and again something happens that reminds me of the fact that my parents are basically very accepting people.
Just now, I was in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. A fair proportion of my more eccentric behaviour happens while I'm waiting for the kettle to boil. Occasionally I'll read a newspaper like a normal person, if there's one there, but usually I pass the time by pacing up and down the kitchen very fast, doing hand stims and talking to myself. Or standing on the table.  Or jumping up and down and spinning round until I fall over. Or opening and shutting the fridge door (I like the noise the rubber seal makes). Essentially, it's the perfect storm, where safe space + small amount of time to kill + low impulse control + autistic delight in specific sensory input = Art acts really oddly in the kitchen.
Anyway, on this occasion I'd picked up an enamel plate from the draining board, and was holding it up to my ear and tapping it with my knuckles. This produces a pleasant chimey vibration in the inner ear if done correctly. My dad was reading the paper at the kitchen table. The following dialogue ensued:

ART & PLATE: Clonggggg...clonggg...clongggg...clonggg clongggg.....clonggg....CLONNNGGGG AARGH!

ART'S DAD: What happened?

ART: OW MY EAR.

ART'S DAD: Bum note?

ART: That's kind of pleasant until it's not.

ART'S DAD: Ah yes. *returns to paper*

He's a very tolerant and non-judgemental man.