When
my dad, Vern, was about the age I am today, he moved in with us. He had been
known to be a handsome man, but I didn’t think he looked too hot anymore.
For one thing, his hair had thinned, and it was a drab shade of gray.
He wore shorts when he walked our property. He had lost all of the hair on his
legs. Much worse, he wore those thin, white compression socks that hugged his
skinny ankles. His doctor said it kept him from getting blood clots. I
thought they made him look ridiculous.
My dad also walked with a noticeable limp, often with a pained look on his
white face.
Today, I looked at a picture of Vern back at that time.
I look a lot like him now. My hair is thin and gray. I walk with a limp. Last
week, my doctor gave me a pair of white compression socks.
I’ve changed my mind.
My dad was a darn good-looking man every day of his life.