He 'd put down whichever section of the New York Times he had been reading , get a pen -LRB- usually red ) and just go to town on my essay . So much so that by the time he handed it back to me , I really did n't believe I had written the essay nor did I think the teacher would believe I had written it either . My father would correct spelling -LRB- fine ) , refine paragraphs -LRB- alright I guess ) and add words or phrases which I either did n't know or would never have used -LRB- hated this ) .
Of course , in the end I had a better essay to hand in -LRB- ca n't remember how this impacted the grade ) but I did n't feel like the work I was turning in was mine.So when I 'm editing Jenn 's work a shiver runs down my spine that my father is also standing above my shoulder editing my edits .
Emotion: Fear