Smarter than Me

By a lot.  Taller, too.  By about 8″.
Had surgery a couple weeks ago - healing up nicely, but bruised and moving stiffly.  Not surprising for someone born in 1943 - also a Taurus.

I’m obviously not the milkman’s kid - height, hair, eyes, and nose come from his mother’s side of the family.  Put a picture of me now, next to her wedding photo, and it’s like I went to a costume party.

He finishes the NY Times Saturday crossword every week - usually in under ninety minutes.  He’s an engineer with an MBA.

I inherited his conflict-avoidant nature, and would probably also whistle “Danny Boy” when I sensed tension around me - if I had also inherited his ability to whistle.

We both love “The American President” - “If you were a dork, you should apologize.  Girls like that.”

If a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing right.  This extends to applying butter to pretty much everything consumed - evenly spread to just the right thickness.

Does not need a ladder to drywall a ceiling, provided one of my cousins can hold the sheet in place while he walks around them, reaching up with the screw gun at regular intervals.  Brobdingnagian home repair, indeed.

Drinks Moosehead beer if it’s available.  I’ll have one with him this Sunday, standing in the warm sun on a mostly green lawn while he makes note of bare spots and contemplates the best fix.

Miss you, Pop, and I’ll see you Sunday.  Happy Father’s Day.

In the meantime, take care of you.

Love,

Kid #2