Dads seem pushy but all they want is what's best for the brats

As a kid growing up, my dad would always hound me to concentrate on my studies. "It's all about maths and science," he would say. And for him, every other subject was just a filler. I remember in Year 9, when we had to choose our subject options in prep for our GCSE exams, my grand plans to take up drama were quickly shot down. The prospect of my name in lights was a big no-no. Instead, I was begrudgingly coaxed into taking a double dose of science - a subject I despised.
I remember that particular parents evening at school so well. I still scowl when I think of it. As I was placed between my parents, staring face-to-face with my bitter-faced science teacher, Ms Shah, the three of them casually went about discussing what was "best for me," without actually discussing it with ME.
"Best" was not how I saw it. But suffice it to say, I lost the battle. That following term my daily school timetable was etched in the word 'double science,' and I was not a happy camper.
So, you can imagine my dad's horror a few years later when I told him I wanted to be a journalist.
"That's not going to pay the bills," he told me. And he didn't mince his words. He saw it as some arty farty career path that only people in the movies actually succeeded in. But in my brazen rebellion, his nagging just propelled my desire to be a writer even more.
Subconsciously, it was my way of rebelling against him. Like a delayed reaction for making me take that double science class all those years earlier. But don't worry, we both laugh about it now. The bitterness has subsided.
See, my dad came from a working class family in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The trades - like carpentry, plumbing and building - were the only realistic, stable job opportunities for men. And for women, it was generally a career in nursing, or no career at all. Alas, my mother was a nurse and my dad an electrician.
 But what my dad failed to remember was one glaring difference between his upbringing and mine. He was born in the 1950s; I was not. Being an '80s baby, that brought with it a whole host of new opportunities; a guaranteed college education, and the prospect - if I was willing (which I was) - of university. Being a nurse was still a good option, but it wasn't a necessity anymore. Thanks to my hardworking parents, 'choice' was my buzzword.
Funny thing is though, as the years went by and he realised I was actually serious about the whole writing thing, he softened. And now, on the rare occasion when I catch him in a moment of affection, he tells me how proud he is of me. I followed my passion and to him, that was gutsy.
Just recently, he also made a confession. He actually always wanted to be a journalist himself. That was new information to me and it made me wonder why he was so hard on me in the beginning. Surely his own flesh and blood taking an interest in something he had always dreamed of should have been music to his ears; his daughter doing the one thing he always wanted?
I was curious, so naturally - as a journalist, of course - I quizzed him about it. I asked why for so many years he went on at me to focus on maths and science, knowing full well I had no interest in it? And why, when I told him I wanted to do journalism, he tried fervently to steer me away from it?
But his answer made sense. It made me realise that actually, he wasn't the sharp-tongued, hard-to-please father I thought he was. He was actually quite warm and fuzzy beneath that hard exterior. And it's age - coupled with a mutual respect for each other's bluntness - that has revealed that.
Coming from Belfast, my dad was plucked out of school at age 14. With six in the family, my grandparents struggled to put food on the table with just one wage coming in. So, as the oldest sibling, it was my dad's education that had to take a back seat to make way for an additional income.
But my dad was smart; he excelled in school and unlike most kids, he loved it. To unwillingly give that up for a working life with my grandfather was a hard transition for him. But it was something he had no control over. He didn't have the privilege (like me) of potentially making the wrong choice; he had no choice. And essentially, that's why he tried to steer me in (what he thought was) the right direction.
Despite how it sounds above, my father was never one of those galling, pushy parent types. I wasn't forced to do anything I didn't want to do (apart from that Double Science stint, of course). Yes, he nagged a bit about decision-making and was blunt in his approach, but I realise now he just wanted to drum home the importance of an education; an education he never fully got to experience.