You could call him a martyr or just plain old-fashioned. You could exploit his bung knee and tease him for carrying his cellphone in a soap container to protect it from the rain, but you'd still call him my old man.
And in 25 years and nine general elections, for all his observations and theories on how the world should be run, my father has never once told me for whom he voted. I've asked often enough, and from a childhood of impassioned socio-political dinner-table lectures I've been left in no doubt as to his politics. But every three years when the question pops up, he delights in saying not much at all.
"Aaah" he'll sigh, a smile creasing his ruddy cheeks. "What makes you think I'll tell you?"
On election day, I'm still not sure he even tells Mum. Maybe it's a Kiwi-ism to keep voting choices close to the chest. Maybe we actually don't so much any more but there's certainly a level of subtlety in average Kiwi voters that you don't see in their American counterparts.
Six weeks out from the presidential election on November 6, Republicans and Democrats wear gaudy badges on their chests and put stickers on their bumpers and signs on their lawns. And all manner of bizarre supporters are popping up to pick a side.