Angle Head Hates Trees

When viewed directly from above, with his forehead being 12:00, Angle Head Hollister's bean goes from 6:00 to 9:00 as straight as though trimmed off by a chainsaw – with only the slightest deference to 7:00 and 8:00.

But that's not the coolest thing about Angle Head. The coolest thing about Angle Head is that when he was a kid, nothing could make him cry. You could bang his head against a wall, or bonk him on the head with the flat part of a shovel. Blocks of ice dropped from a severe height, or even standing on his head would at most cause him to rub his hand back and forth over the crooked lump that rested upon his shoulders. Tough kid.

For what it's worth, I knew enough to not actually be the one bonking or standing on his head. Even kids with a reputation for never crying sometimes reverse that trend, upon which adults become involved. Sadly, maintaining a position of detached amusement is a lesson that I forgot later in life.

Right out of high-school, Angle Head went into the forestry business in British Columbia.

Today, thirty five years later, Angle Head Hollister hates trees – I mean he really, really hates trees. Angle Head hates everything about trees. He hates the choking clouds of pollen in the spring, and he hates the roots that stick up through the undergrowth and trip you, just as though they want you to fall on your axe. He hates trees so much that on his land near Okotokes, Alberta there is not even a hint of a tree. No brush, no bushes. All of the hundreds of trees that used to reside on this beautiful piece of retirement property at the edge of the Canadian Rockies have been cut down so close to the ground that you have to be standing right on top of a stump to ever know that something once lived on that precise spot. In fact, the trees are so young when he kills them now, they could be used for garnish instead of parsley.

As far as I know, Angle Head Hollister never reversed his trend of absorbing pain without crying. Tough kid.