He a bit funny, tall. Yet they way he eats his yogurt hints that he’s a no-nonsense kind of guy. Stubbly with ruddy skin that’s somewhat reddened, somewhat freckled, somewhat wrinkled.
Born somewhere in the sixties, he’s got to be a Mike or a Dan or a John; possibly all three.
He worked hard in his youth. Dad either was a military man or acted like one and Mom cooked like a fiend and never doubted the positive results of a good spanking. Pushed mowers since his tenth birthday and shoveled driveways for the elderly without being asked. Something he tried to instill in his own son, but somewhere down the line found out the hard way that times have changed.
His wedding ring’s a bit worn down. Twenty years of nicks and dents prove his marriage to the over-coiffed, slightly bloated woman at his side. She was a true prize to be won back when they first started dating, but sometimes now he feels he needs God’s grace to get him to the golf tournament unscathed.
The college years were his glory days. Majoring in business and frat parties gave him the first taste of the wild life. Four years of streaking and drinking were a beautiful distraction from the real world. The real world that came crashing down the minute he inherited his father’s business full time.
He’s the polo wearing, basketball watching, grilling on the back porch, daughter in college, suburban hotshot. Give him a beer and his aged frat brothers and he rules the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment