A Portrait of My Father

My father is your average 60-something year old man. He plays golf & basketball, gardens, watches a healthy amount of reality tv, and once a year goes on a trip with my stepmom. They just returned from their most exotic trip - a Tahitian cruise.

The photos from their trip showed a lush landscape, dormant volcanoes, and the most perfect hues of blue ever to be found. The colors of the water are simply breathtaking. There are perfect places in the world, aren't there?

While many photos were nature shots, there were a few with my Dad in them. Shipboard, leaning on the rail, in shorts and a golf shirt, he looked cute. Off the ship however there were some rather frightful shots. After 18 years of marriage my stepmom's influence on Dad's attire has apparently waned; he has regressed to his old habits and a model for the fashion faux pas. A creature of habit, he wears the same things over and over until they're beyond repair. He has Teva sandals that he's superglued too many times - but prefers them over the new ones in the closet. He wears the same t-shirts and faded navy shorts. This doesn't bother me, rather it amuses me. He hasn't changed and I find it endearing.

What was alarming to me was his choice of t-shirts to take on the trip. In a handful of shots he's wearing a variation of the 'wife beater' - a t-shirt with no sleeves (he ripped off the sleeves). One had such big gaps where the arms once were that it was like one of those gowns seen on the red carpet - where it covers the necessary part (breast, chest, whatever) but that's about it. I could almost see his nipples through the arm holes. (If he wasn't so tan I would say he blushed at this comment). Best of all, these t-shirts were from our annual 'Race for the Cure' walk. So he's a wife beatin' geezerjock with a cause.

Hopefully he'll cut back on wearing these tees when not gardening, washing the car, etc. as such fashion don'ts are now captured for eternity in the vacation photo album.

We'll have to wait till next January's vacation to confirm, but I think the term 'wife beater' clinched it. As I was leaving the 'rents house he mumbled something about getting rid of one or two of the more stretched out beaters.