Jim Hunter, my three sons

Time was not good to Jim Hunter, that was to be sure.

Old age was something that snuck up on you, snapped a bag over your head, and then wrapped tightly until you choked on the inevitability of what came next (or so he was told by his father in rather brusque terms). He was nothing if not a realist, hidden barely behind a veneer of cheerfulness and happy smiles. He didn't mind that people were often commenting on his disposition, they didn't know any better, and there was a part of him that preferred it that way.

Besides, at 65 years old, Jim felt that there was little else he could achieve professionally. His practice had been wildly successful, he managed to become one of the top plastic surgeons in the area, and his clinic was well-staffed to the point he could make selective appointments months in advance (he was that good, he didn't mind bragging a little). There were several other members who joined his practice and the group, by and large, was sound. Jim could retire comfortably, if he so desired.

The rub, of course, lay in the fact that he had five children altogether, 2 daughters and 3 sons, all of whom were in various stages of life that often diverged from how he imagined his family life would be at 65. His eldest son was 41 years old and happily married, living just a few doors down from the old family home but, where he had gone into medicine, Taylor had instead gone into construction. He made a decent living, there was no doubting that, but he could really have applied himself with just a bit more effort, perhaps? No parent wanted to see their children suffer, that was for sure.

The second son, Robert, was 39. He was a confirmed bachelor, though not for the lack of trying. There was just nothing that he could do that seemed to help his situation any. A moderate success as a financial analyst downtown, he was the one that went away for a few years to cut his teeth in European markets before coming back home and setting down his roots. Decent looking by any measure, Jim just didn't understand why he hadn't met the right girl and had a family. Robert was great with kids and his nieces and nephews often crowned him "favorite" amongst the 3 brothers.

The youngest son, Dylan (28), was the baby of the family, having been born after the two daughters, Yvonne (32) and Heather (30), almost as an after-thought and while not meek by any means, Dylan was something of an outlier. The rest of his sons took after him and his side of the family, very striking (read "white") while Dylan had more of a mixed Greek look to him. Dark complexion, black hair, brown eyes. He was also the tallest of the three sons, yet another trait that came from his mother's side more.

Jim sighed as he turned his attention to the stack of medical journals that had come in the mail and absent-mindedly sorted through them, stopping only once his attention fell upon a magazine that he hadn't recognized. "DeviantArt", self-described as a journal for artistic expressions of the normal and mundane. Almost thinking that it was some sort of scam or something that one of the assistants had clicked on, he nonetheless skimmed it. It was not really his cup of tea, after looking at a few of the writeups and art reviews, and was about to chuck it into the bin when he noticed a section that seemed to be not unlike those old airline crossword puzzles for bored passengers to fill out. A questionnaire, with the premise "IF YOU WERE A GIRL", followed by several blank pages with questions on the top of each one. There was also a corresponding section entitled "IF YOU WERE A BOY" (that was fair, he mused).

1.) IF YOU WERE A GIRL...WOULD YOUR HANDWRITING BE NICE?