He flings the two halves of the cane into the tall grass. "I—You—'I missed,' you say!? As if I don't know the sight of your foul buttocks by now? Phlox, child!"
Your father turns his back on you, trying to master himself. "Your mother wants me to beat some sense into you, but after all these fruitless years I'm not sure you're worth the effort."
You open your mouth, not sure to be upset or relieved. The moment demands you say something.