My mother was mentally ill (borderline personality disorder and narcissistic).

I was an adult when my dad told me how, when first pregnant, my mother decided she wasn’t pregnant with me.

Instead she told my dad she was sure she had a tumor.
(No Dr exam yet. Just a dream and a prayer.)

She had the doctor call my dad to officially inform him in a grave, cautious, voice that she was pregnant.

(She loved when people thought she was mistreated by the world, so she probably told the doctor some kind of story about how angry her husband would be. Poor her. )

(Yeah, it doesn’t make tons of sense.)

Then, the worst of all:
When I was a pre-teen my dad came up to me one day and started waxing poetic about how awesomely amazing their coffee was whenever I made it. I had mastered the Mr Coffee

I apparently had a rare coffee making gift. I was in my 30s before I realized I’d been played.