The classic scent of the common man. Common many years ago and less so now, but not a forgotten fragrance either. It is still spashed daily by thousands, upon a like number of wizened, grizzled mugs.
A scent considered dated, passe' and far out of style, yet which still sells millions of dollars worth annually; the men who wear it are to those who love them, absolutely never dated, passe' or out of style.
Arfin Greebly said...
You made my eyes water, and I'm not eating anything hot.
If I somehow managed to grow into my father, I would consider it an honor.
I have long felt those were shoes I could not fill.
Every time I review the integrity with which he has lived his life, I find myself wanting.
I hear ya, Afrin.... and raise you an "amen".
So, though while Law Dog's post speaks of an entirely different sort of spice, he speaks the common language of sons who come to know thier fathers later in life, and surprisingly, in their own lives as they live them.
A bit melancholy, to be sure. But not sad. No, not sad at all.
Indeed, every morning that I drag the whetted steel across my own aging jowls, I find myself more and more to be shaving the face of my Father.
So, Mr. Greebly? Don't feel bad, mate. I know I can never fill my Dad's shoes. Not even close. I'll be happy if I can be merely half the man my Dad is, and even that is to aspire to fight above my weight. For all his flaws, mistakes and shortcomings, he's lived a life which far outstrips mine in accomplishment, experience and integrity.
I admire him beyond words, and love him beyond measure.
And shall, always.
Happy travelling, Dad, and Happy Father's Day!
By the way, I come to my love of black pepper quite of my own volition. I can remember quite cleaerly, the four of us (Dad, my late Mom and (now estranged) brother, dining at the Western Steak House on Orangethorpe Ave in Fullerton, CA. And my folk's watching in astonished amazement as I quite literally blanketed my steaks (we ate there often enough), in a good solid layer of black pepper, relishing every bite. I was in the 2nd grade then.
And while I've never came to appreciate any sort of bell pepper or hot chili peppers, I still loves me a well peppered steak.