Pool shark, that is.
Back in the old days, when my parents were still around, my cute little daddy surprised us all speechless, when he up and bought a pool table. We never knew he was even interested in a pool table. In fact, when I was dating a very handsome boy–who shall remain forever nameless–back in high school, there were only a few rules beyond, “Behave yourself.” They went something like this–
1) Come home the same night you went out.
2) Never get on a motorcycle–with anyone.
3) Do not, under any circumstances enter a pool hall with some guy.
So a few years later, what does he do? He tows a real live pool table into the basement and promptly becomes…
a shark.
Seriously. He beat everyone–
except my mom…because he let her cheat.
One day he and Lyndi were going downstairs to “have a game” and I said, “So, is my daughter going into a pool hall with some guy?”
He said, “Naw, I’m not some guy. I’m some grampa. Don’t you worry. If I see some guys I’ll throw ’em out.” He was grinning big now, and said, “Well, at least it isn’t a motorcycle. You know how I feel about motorcycles.”
Then he laughed his head off.
Dad…dad.
Oooooh…I do miss that laugh.
