Dad wasn’t a horrible guy, Franko knew. He was annoying and overbearing and old-fashioned and obsessive to a fault. But not horrible.
After an encounter on a construction site, Dad had become obsessed with Franko being a lawyer.
Franko watched an awards show with his mom and sisters and wanted to be a shoe designer.
Franko would lay in the alcove of his bedroom in their little Cape Cod and doodle. Mostly shoes, with the occasional duck and otter.
Dad would leave him notes about chores, about fictional films with lawyers he should watch, and random words of encouragement.
The notes were all signed with a quickly scrawled autograph that Frank could only imagine was meant to say “Dad”. It was cute. It looked like an abstract, jolly, fat man bowling.
Franko acquiesced to his father’s obsession with him becoming a lawyer.
He got good grades, went to the college that had the football team his father cheered for, and passed the bar on the first try.
Never stopped doodling shoes.
Used his law firm money to have some prototypes made.
They were glamorous and elegant and he was proud of them, but they flopped.
Somewhere, during this time, Dad found out the truth about his son and stopped speaking to him.
Mom tried, even invited Franko and his partner for holiday dinner, but dad brooded silently. Franko almost expected to get a note afterward.
Franko took up trail running, for his health and sanity, and designed himself a shoe for it.
A colleague asked him to design a pair for her. Then her cousin in Boulder bought some as well, then his morning running club and the ex-Marine who worked the gate in his subdivision. The man’s daughter was an internet star and took Franko’s creation to the masses.
When they miked him for his first television interview, Franko knew they would ask about his logo. And Franko knew, without hesitation, that he would not tell the truth.
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I really, really love this one!!