Gregson’s running shorts were getting tight. They revealed a bit too much of his manhood, but if he owned it, and strutted with confidence, he gained 2 extra pounds with the ladies, or I mean, points. Half of all success in life, is owning it.
“I’ve got a boat behind the church—do you fancy waterskiing?” The Father asked.
“It’s going to be 90 degrees today, and there’s a church potluck coming over. You know the kinds of people who only talk about superficial things, and after the conversation, you don’t remember what was said, because nothing was said?”
“I stay away from those kinds of people.”
“Me too, but unfortunately, it’s a hazard of the job. Potlucks are worse than meetings—everybody laughs, when nothing is funny. At least in meetings, everyone is serious, and something gets done.”
“Are you sure about that? And what’s this about looking for my family jewels?” Gregson asked.
“You don’t have to look very hard to see them,” the Father coughed.
“Our family is well-endowed.”
“Well, I’ve been reading books from your dad’s library, and been trying to become a wise man.”
“It’s more difficult than you might think. There is a reason real wisdom is hidden in riddles. Real wisdom is not for people who can read—it’s for people who can think, for themselves. Reading is part of it, but it takes significantly more thinking, about what you have read, and what you haven’t read, to get close to wisdom. There’s the boat.” The Father pointed at a brand-new Mastercraft.
“How can you afford that?” Gregson asked.
“Tithes and offerings… how else?”
“But isn’t that God’s money?”
“I listen to God, and do as He says. The Outlet was having a sale last week, and I felt God said, ‘Buy the boat.’ I never say no to God.”
“But what about the IRS?”
“Best to do God’s work in secret, so that we are rewarded in heaven.”
The Father unbuttoned his black shirt, revealing tanned muscles.
“You’re ripped,” Gregson said.
“Yes; the church bought me a Bowflex. It’s important to strengthen the body, and the spirit—they are more closely connected than you might think. The Father had a gold chain, hanging from his hairy chest. It was studded with diamonds. He could’ve been a rock star—a Jesus Christ Superstar, Gregson thought.
“Get in the boat, and we’ll push off,” the Father said. “Do you want to be the first to waterski?”
“It’s been a while, but I’ll give it a go.”
The Father gunned the engine, and tried to pull Gregson out of the water. It’s impossible to skip a round rock across a still pond. The rope broke.
“Damn; we need a thousand-pound test for you.” The Father tossed Gregson a thicker rope. This time, Gregson came out of the water like a pro. He jumped the wake, and held on with one arm. The Father looked at Gregson with respect.
Only a man with style, can recognize a man with style.