Heavy Steps

My dad, when he gets frustrated or angry or sad or depressed or moody or reckless or anxious, my dad, when he gets any one or combination of these things, he tromps around with a certain weight to his feet; each step is thrown down and it's heavy.

My dad, when he gets jaunty or jolly or frisky or easy-go-lucky or smiley or thoughtful or inspired, my dad, when he gets any one or combination of these things, he floats around with a certain lightness to his feet; each step is gracefully set down, and he frolics and glides.




But wait, I lied.

This doesn't describe my dad; no, no not at all-- it describes you, Trevor.

And your feet have been heavily banging against the ground a little too often lately, and they are starting to ache.