Frank's father was a WWII vet. He had enlisted up towards the end and fought on the Pacific front. He startled a bit whenever he saw an Asian afterwards, but it was only a momentary thing. He got married to his high school sweetheart when he came home and they bought one of the new houses at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Growing up, Frank heard many stories about his father's days in the military. All of his friends were interesting and very day was hilarious and fun, the way Frank's father told it. It was not until later that Frank realized that it was not all happiness and sunshine in the army.

Vietnam was the turning point. Frank wanted to join up. He would have, but his father insisted that he go to college. Then, during a fight, Frank's father sat down in his chair. It was then that Frank noticed how old he was. He had never thought of his father that way. It was strange and unsettling.

"Son- Frankie- I have to tell you something my drill sergeant told us in the beginning. 'There are old soldiers, and bold soldiers, but not old, bold soldiers'." He sighed, then rubbed at his eyes.

Frank looked at his father and decided, right there, that he would be bold and old, just to prove that sergeant wrong. He had also conveniently forgotten the bit about being a soldier, but that was of no concern to him.

Being bold was how he met his future wife. It was how he met all women, and also how he got slapped. The women called it 'being a pig' but Frank called it boldness.

'I've fifty dollars and a bag of mushrooms, you should have sex with me' might not be the best pick-up line. But it worked. Well, it worked once, and Babara was a bit of a whore back then- it was the 70s.

Maybe Frank had mistaken boldness for the lack of any morals at all, but he never heard anyone complain.

He never heard anyone complain who was a legal citizen.

He never heard anyone complain who was a legal citizen and not his child.

Either way, he was bold, old, and rich. One could say he was stinking, dirty rich, but these days he was mostly stinking and dirty. That's what happened when you lived with Charlie.


Note: Frank's father is not to be confused with Dennis and Dee's Nazi grandfather. He is from their mother's side in my mind. I just think it would be great if thir grandparents fought against each other in the war.
But, this is not the Frank story I am working on. That one is going a bit slower, so I wrote this up. I need to write something for other characters. I just don't know if I should work on the waitress or Rickety Cricket first. A good thing is that these drabbles seem to be getting longer every time.