The Old Man

My father has been balding and greying since he was 19. Inside, he's still 19, much to my mother's dismay. His white hair and shiny dome lead many to misoverestimate his age. Add to that the fact that he sometimes talks to himself, and one might get the totally wrong image of him, as he wanders the airports of the western world. (In reality, he's the kind of guy who tells the waitress, when she asks if he wants a glass for his beer, "it already comes in a glass!", not some frail old man.)

My mom recently related that well-meaning strangers have approached him at the airport, as he navigates the crowds with a large suitcase and toolbox, and have offered to help him carry his luggage. He smiles, accepts their kind offer, and then laughs when they can't lift his heavy toolbox.