My father. I’m a bit tempted to just take what I just typed and replace mom with father. But that would be a bit disingenuous—even if rather accurate. Let's just zoom through this. Straight A student. Model child. Sunday worshiper. Also fascinated with the human brain and all things human in general. And ultimately came to the same success. Not as aggressive as my mom, but you couldn’t tell that when they were apart. And since their ideas matched so well, it never really mattered who was wearing the pants at home.
He suffered from the same curse of beauty that she did. Skin the shade of the most deliciously sinful chocolate cake. Brown eyes that had a splash of hazel. A voice so deep and smooth it could make ice cream melt while simultaneously making evil quake by its power. And tall. Very tall. He had to be to create that perfect balance they always strived for. It would explain why my mother fell for him. He came in at about six foot five. Exactly seven inches taller than her and the number seven is one of God’s numbers. And so on and so forth. Basically, they were a match made in heaven, and their ridiculous passion for all things Christian made them believe that even more.
He also was trying to save—Oh enough. Let’s just say that they were almost identical in all ways. In fact, it’s so bad that they both went to senior prom alone. As I was told, God was their date. The old me probably wouldn’t see the humour in that; the me now can roll my eyes as I type it.
So recap: deathly genius, hopelessly devoted to Christ, and celibate, my father went through life upholding a certain amount of decency that even Jesus himself would be envious of. He didn’t choose a Christian college because in his mind secular college was where God was needed most. He ran just as many events as my mom for both the psych majors and Christian stuff. If he and my mom were enemies, he would’ve been her toughest competition.
My dad was the type of man that took up cooking classes because he didn’t believe in perpetuating gender roles. As such, I’m not a bad cook myself. Both he and my mom were culinary experts. Your body is the Lord’s temple, he would say, and the mind is the greatest weapon. “With both in peak condition, nothing is impossible.” Well, through God of course.
He, like my mother, was against all things hate, like racism discrimination and the like. And well I’m done. There’s no more ways I can say that when it came to being an upstanding citizen of planet earth, he was shooting for a perfect 11 out of ten. The man could do no wrong—or so it seemed.
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