He’s an unassuming man. Rarely concerned about fashion, or maybe just the fashion of the everyman. Clothes from the big-box clothing stores are good enough for him. He’s gotten used to doing without the top of the line. After all, when you’re working at a nonprofit and still feeding, clothing, and schooling three kids in the suburbs, certain sacrifices have to be made.
He often wonders whether this might have held him back in this career. After all, the clothes make the man, they say. But, too late now. Anyway, the fashions seemed to have changed a dozen times in his lifetime alone … along with everything else.
His hair is in large part gone or at least has given up major territory. He has resigned himself to the convenient new fashion of a to-the-scalp crewcut, the kind of cut that only the gym teachers and army sergeants of his day wore. It’s handy during the morning routine. But each look in the mirror reminds him that he’s not the man he once was. That something is lost — more than just his hair. He hopes that something of equal value is gained as well, though it’s hard to place his finger on it.
He’s slightly taller than average in height. At about six-foot-one, he looks up to some and down at others. Funny. That’s how he feels about life as well, in a way. He’s not easily impressed, but when he is, it’s always accompanied by an admixture of jealousy and disdain. Unless, of course, he likes the person for other reasons already, like, is he a fellow member in his church or some other kind of organization or cause he’s involved in. Although, if he admits, that sometimes only delays the dislike.
Yes, in a way, he dislikes most everyone. His wife is an exception. She is what others might call a plain woman, though she was always beautiful to him. She’s very loyal, very giving. Together they’ve raised three beautiful children. And now they are empty-nesters. Their love has lasted through times of unemployment and major health threats. He has survived two heart surgeries, the second after a major attack. They’ve both resigned themselves to the fact that he would not be around forever.
His walk is still confident. On the streets of the city, he outpaces some and is outpaced by others. He prides himself each time he passes someone half his age, though he realizes those ones are usually handicapped with the distraction of a cell phone and thus are disqualified from the race — a race they seem oblivious to the fact they are even running in. Poor souls.
