A True Soldier
The other day, while taking my early morning walk around my estate, I noticed a security guard in a soldier's uniform, stationed outside a high-fenced mansion clearly belonging to a “big man.” The uniform he wore was old, torn, and looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. It was obvious he hadn’t bathed either. His hair was unkempt, his shirt half-buttoned with a pot belly sticking out, worn-out bathroom slippers on his feet, and a chewing stick dangling from his mouth. He sat lazily under a tree, staring at passersby with an air of authority, as if he truly believed he was someone to be feared or revered. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and muttered to myself, “So this one too would call himself a soldier in an army? Wow!” To him, he was the authority in charge of that neighborhood and expected respect. But I couldn’t help wondering: if a gang of armed robbers were to attack that house, would he be able to command any respect or put up a fight, especially looking the...