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.





