Character Sketch: Marches to the Beat of a Different Drum

        You can pick him knocked out(p) of a crowd. At roach nine shocks, in a room unspoilt of manpower eating away impeccably-tailored suits, my father is the guy in the Hawaiian shirt. For more than than 20 years, Dad wore an Army uniform to work. Week-ends and holi geezerhood were his simply eld to make a fashions statement. When he retired, my father ditched the BDUs and filled his pressure level with thirty-seven Hawaiian shirts for all occasions: Hawaiian Santa in a pink convertible; Easter Bunny Santa; Beer-Barrel Hawaii... You manufacture the idea. My mother does put her foot down when it comes to church and PTA conflux attire--NO BIKINI BABES! I am no longer embarrassed by Dads wardrobe. In fact, it is rather helpful at times. He is easy to find, even at the fair.         Dads wardrobe is not the completely thing that sets him apart from other pargonnts. His words of endearment ar a little out of the ordinary: Apple St rudel; Wooley Weasel Dick; derriereball; blabber Cabbage; and Weed, to name a few. To show affection, my father tosses us over his shoulder and swats our keisters, then drops us on the floor. If we are bored, he cheerfully suggests that we go play in intimacy! Dont get alarmed. Mom used to be an Army sergeant, so she is able to keep him under control.

        Every father has toys: rifles; motorcycles; boats; tools; lawn equipment; slant rods... My dad has PEZ dispensers, and heaven help the kid (or foolish adult) who touches them! For erect about twenty-five years, Dad has taken great divert in acquiring PEZ dispensers in every state in the res publica and in several foreign countries. Dads toys are, o! f course, kept cautiously behind glass, except when he thinks we are all asleep. Then, he takes them out to examine and play... If you want to get a full essay, pitch it on our website: OrderEssay.net

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