RuntHow to tell you about myself? To my mother, I’m a tall, slender, handsome, intelligent, well-behaved young man. My father in an honest moment? A sickly disappointment who can’t toss a ball or score a hoop. My best friend? I don’t have one. My girl? Sorry, struck out there too.
If you asked me, I’d acknowledge elements of truth to both of my parents’ claims. I’ve got the brains to stay at the top of my class, and I admit to being a goody-two-shoes. I’m slender enough, but tall and handsome? At five-eight, I’m tall only if you consider five-six as the norm. As for handsome, that can go either way depending upon my mood.
In a way, the situation with my dad is not my fault. I was sickly as a kid, and by the time I got any weight or strength, everyone else had found his niche in the world
