Fatherhood

In the cold recesses of my conscience, I remember the few times that I was cruel to my father. It must have been confusing to him. He was many things to me (sometimes harsh), but never cruel. I know that I was reaching for something then, desperate to belong, striving to feel big in some way. Somehow we moved on from those times and I knew he loved me, even after the worst of them. It was actually harder for me to forgive myself.

I think I get it now; how he hung in there with me. He had laid the groundwork long before my adolescence. He had let me into his heart the day he first laid eyes on me. I'm sure of it! I did not always let him in, but I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he treasured me.

My little girl sparkles as I watch her walk and talk and laugh and roll around on the floor. There are days when I get tired, when I wonder if I'll be able to keep up with her until she falls out, but I never wonder if I will love her no matter what. I am confident that she will have a good life; that she will be a strong confident person. But even if I'm wrong, I know that I will follow her to the end of the earth to show her how much I love her. I had a good role model. Thanks dad!

sunday afternoons

I remember Sunday afternoons as restful. My father would often fall asleep in the chair reading the paper. We watched golf if it was on and dinner was usually special and important. Our larger family had a brunch once a month and the love was palpable among the coffee cake and egg casseroles. Sundays were simple then and carried minimal dread.

Now I am usually only able to enjoy half of a Sunday, dreading returning to work and feeling I didn't get enough weekend. Today, I feel Sunday in a big way. I am squirming in its shadow; wanting it to sweep me all the way to Friday. I endure it until the golf and baseball games are over and then I hope to have a tasty morsel that will keep me from remembering it is Sunday night.

The warmth is deceiving.
Wind swirling
and the spitting rain jabs.

It is conflict
brewing
inside of me.

I am climbing
the tall wall
and straining to see.

I know there is
another side
and I am near.

I regret my insolence;
my near stupidity-
face in my hands.