With the exception of my stories, my dad doesn't read. He's a geotechnical engineer, so he has more of the mathematical and scientific bent. He didn't grow up in a reading family, and his school experiences didn't encourage him. (The small number and unappealing variety of the assigned school reading he's told me about make me so glad I was homeschooled.) I did convince him to read Cards On the Table by Agatha Christie once. But by and large, he doesn't read. The book habit came to me from my mom, who read mysteries under the covers with a flashlight as a little girl. As a matter of fact, she says she read anything she could get her hands on that had words on it. Her father was a security guard at a shopping mall, and whenever she finished a book she would ask him to bring her home another one (or two) from one of the bookstores there.
Anyway, over the years Dad has cultivated a literary sensibility second-hand, through Mom's reading aloud to us, film adaptations of the classics, and our enthusiastic suppertime discussions of characters and plots. In fact, he's graduated to the point where he will independently quote from Jane Austen in the middle of a conversation. That just absolutely delights the literature buff in me. Dad's favorite Austen hero is probably Colonel Brandon, though one of his favorite lines is Mr. Knightley's "Badly done indeed!"
Another favorite pastime is imitating the voices of the Cranford characters while discussing everyday matters. You should hear Miss Deborah hold forth on the subject of football.
My siblings do know how to drive me to the brink of distraction on occasion, but I am tremendously proud of their literary knowledge, and the fact that they have so much fun with it. It is fun, isn't it? Why say "Hurry up" or "Get out of here" when you can say "Make haste!" or "Begone!" (The latter has the greatest effect when accompanied by an appropriately Pecksniffian gesture, as seen above.)