Reflection

John looked at his reflection in the mirror. Facial hair more beard than stubble, lines more worry than distinguished. He was an unusual looking man. He had long silvery hair that supposedly went out of fashion in the 60s or 70s. But it was part of what earned him a livelihood.

As he brushed his teeth, he reflected on his History major in college. How much he wanted to know more about his ancestors, the story of his great country. A smile.

He couldn't afford to shave, not because he couldn't afford the supplies, but because he needed the beard. It was part of his job.

He passed his bedroom on his way to the kitchen. His wife of 19 years lay asleep. His college sweetheart, they had the same idealism back then. Celebrate freedom, choice, scholarship. He would get to talk to her for a few minutes later that evening before going to bed. If that.

Another bedroom, and his daughter. The light of his life. She'd made daddy proud by qualifying for the US Olympics Gymnastics team. A smile.

He put his stockings on, and the buckled shoes, and the long coat. He picked up his hat that went out of fashion centuries ago and went to his car. Few would say it looked modern. A smile. He lived in another age - several different ages actually.

As he pulled into his parking spot, he saw others like him walking towards the buildings where they worked. Men and women, people like him, who understood him. There was Trevor who had a PhD in colonial arms and ammunition, and Lydia with a masters in fashion history. His friends. A smile, and a greeting.

Work starts at 9am when the first visitors start trickling in. He has to look happy, smile and explain with authority the history of the building. Act the part, be the age. Little children giggling at his dress, his hair. Slightly older ones saying "Cool" to every little fact. Parents trying desperately to look interested as they kept an eye on the brats. Teenagers in groups supposedly visiting to finish a history project. He often finds someone who is really interested in what he does, the place. It reminds him of himself at that age. A twinkle in his eye, a smile. "This place sucks, I want my Gameboy" a little boy says. That snaps him out of that warm fuzzy feeling.

This is all it is. This is what it amounts to. His passion, his life. Time for the next group.