Last night I went up to my sister's house. Since I was up there, I slept at my parents' place. So this morning I hung around and listened to my morning public radio at the house.
Now, dad doesn't really listen to radio unless he's in the car, and he typically doesn't listen to NPR unless he's on his way home from work and listening for the news of the day. Radio is not the recreational wonder for him that it is to me.
However, occasionally I can tell that the same thing that lives inside of me that gets a kick out of the spoken word maybe has its roots in him. He'll pause. He'll clearly be basically eavesdropping on the radio. Sometimes he'll give a, "Huh, I didn't know that." He'll chuckle. He's clearly doing more than just hearing the background noise; he's listening, and it keeps him anchored in one place longer than he would be if he was in a room of silence or (even worse) pop-country music.
So, dad, I know your secret, and it's okay. There's no need to hide it. You like public radio. Just admit it. You'll feel better after you do. Mom won't mind. Really. Just let it out.