Frank Taylor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glowinthedark) wrote2006-05-02 10:47 am
glowinthedark) wrote2006-05-02 10:47 am
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fandom_muses: Topic 19 - Habits
I have a few habits I’ve never really kicked...biting my nails is one of them. I mean, I don’t gnaw away at my fingers the way I used to when I was a kid, but when I get particularly absorbed in something, I tend to chew on my nails...when the biting *does* start, I know I’m working too hard.
My weirdest habit, though? Comes from my grandfather. He was a blue collar kinda guy from the South Bronx. Cop, just like my dad...but the one thing he always prided himself on was being a gentleman. He always used to tell me that anyone with money could ‘put on airs.’ He saw the delicacy and manners they had as something artificial...used to say that a true gentleman had patched holes in the elbows of his jacket when he lay it across a puddle so a lady didn’t have to step in the mud.
He *did* stuff like that, too...never saw him do the puddle thing, but he lit cigarettes for women, always had a handkerchief in his pocket “just in case,” never let a woman pay when he took her to dinner...he may have been a working stiff, but he was never anything less than a class act.
When he passed away, everyone in my family was heartbroken...he was just that kind of guy. His funeral had one of the biggest turnouts I’d ever seen. It was kind of like a tribute when I started carrying a handkerchief in my own pocket...never had much need to use it, but every time I pulled it out, or even felt it there in my pocket, I thought of Grandad.
It’s been nearly a decade since he passed on, but I still keep that handkerchief on me...it’s just gotten to where I don’t feel right without it. It’s gotten to be where carrying it isn’t just a way of remembering, but a force of habit.
And somehow? I think that wherever my grandfather is...he’d be proud of that fact.
Muse: Frank Taylor
Fandom: Haunted
Words: 343
My weirdest habit, though? Comes from my grandfather. He was a blue collar kinda guy from the South Bronx. Cop, just like my dad...but the one thing he always prided himself on was being a gentleman. He always used to tell me that anyone with money could ‘put on airs.’ He saw the delicacy and manners they had as something artificial...used to say that a true gentleman had patched holes in the elbows of his jacket when he lay it across a puddle so a lady didn’t have to step in the mud.
He *did* stuff like that, too...never saw him do the puddle thing, but he lit cigarettes for women, always had a handkerchief in his pocket “just in case,” never let a woman pay when he took her to dinner...he may have been a working stiff, but he was never anything less than a class act.
When he passed away, everyone in my family was heartbroken...he was just that kind of guy. His funeral had one of the biggest turnouts I’d ever seen. It was kind of like a tribute when I started carrying a handkerchief in my own pocket...never had much need to use it, but every time I pulled it out, or even felt it there in my pocket, I thought of Grandad.
It’s been nearly a decade since he passed on, but I still keep that handkerchief on me...it’s just gotten to where I don’t feel right without it. It’s gotten to be where carrying it isn’t just a way of remembering, but a force of habit.
And somehow? I think that wherever my grandfather is...he’d be proud of that fact.
Muse: Frank Taylor
Fandom: Haunted
Words: 343