He’s standing very straight. His head is tilted forward and eyes are on a text he is holding in both hands. It is probably the bible, though I cannot know this for certain. But why would it not be the bible? I will acknowledge, though, that it is possible that the monk is engaged in reading a work of literature or history or even a book about birds, flowers, or gardening. In fact, it would be fitting if the text in the monk’s hands were about gardening because the monk looks like he would be a good gardener. I know what a good gardener looks like because my father, whom I adored, was a good gardener, as was his father, my grandfather, or so I have heard. I never did get to know my grandfather. That said, I do know him from my father’s stories. It is funny, really, how much you can know about a person who you have never met or have had the pleasure of encountering only once. From what I know about him, I believe my grandfather would have made a lovely monk. Thankfully he chose a different path. If my grandfather had chosen the quiet, reclusive, and celibate life of a monk, he would not have fathered my father nor would I be here to tell you about this monk sculpture. Which, back to the sculpture...It is made from wood, stained brown, and painted with a little bit of gray paint for the monk’s face and hands, white paint for his long beard and also the pages of the text he is holding, and black paint for the cover of the text. Once I looked at the monk and thought, Why did I not become a monk? That thought is laughable though because, being honest, I would have made a terrible monk. (I do not make a great writer and perhaps not even a good one, but then again, I am not trying to be a great or good writer, only serviceable (if I were a great writer I would have landed on a better word than serviceable!)). Anyway, the monk is standing next to pictures of my wife and children. The pictures affirm for me that, Yes, it is good that, like my grandfather, I too chose a different path than that of the monk. My father considered the priesthood, but decided against it for reasons that I am unaware of and, because he died many years ago, I can no longer access. I wish I knew, just as I wish I knew which text the monk is holding and reading. There is much I wish I knew but never will, and there are some things that I wish I did not know but will never forget. But let’s not get into such stuff right now.