I first noticed the father, a vaguely unkempt looking man picking out a bowling ball. It was hard to tell his age, but I am guessing around mine, pushing 60. His hair was all white, and he was bald on top. A comb or brush would not have hurt his look. He was dressed in a pair of black Rustler jeans and a black t-shirt that was a tad too short for him.
I then noticed his wife. She appeared to be at least 20 years his junior. She was obese enough that her belly had more than formed an apron. Initially I thought she was Hispanic. I shortly heard her say something, and it was classic Tennessee country. Neither she nor her husband were ugly, but then again they were not particularly handsome.
Then the passel of kids came into focus. There were a total of four. The oldest, a boy, who never took down his sweatshirt hood, looked to be 12 or 13. Continue reading “Sunday Morning Snobbery”