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My Father's Day

�When I was twelve, I was nothing like my dad. He was tall, dark, muscular. His eyes were crystal blue swords, that could cut a man in half. Or slice the clothes off of a woman. He was formidable but mellow. Until he lost his temper, and then the bull within him was released. It was always red.
��Myself, at twelve years old, was everything opposite. I was undersized and short, compared to other boys my age. I had already had two major surgeries by two years old, and a few accidents. So it seemed like I was collecting scars like big centipedes upon my body. I was also developing some kind of speech impediment. Words confused me, when I tried to say them. So all in all, I probably wasn't the type of son that a dad would hope for.
�� Dad wasn't always around, when I was growing up. When he was, I was so happy. He was the one strong thing that steadied me, in my tumultuous childhood.
�� One day, I was rummaging through some paperwork and books of his, because I liked to read and was always curious, and I found some poems that he had written.
I had no idea that he wrote anything at all. Some were about nature. Some, about life and it's struggles. And one, about me. It had my name in the title.
My heart fell to the floor. I was so afraid that it would be about what a burden that I had been upon him, during the last twelve years. My bad luck. So as I began to read it, I prepared myself for the reality that he probably felt let down by me.

�And then I read it...

"Mark"

A special place in my heart has he
My namesake, stubborn like me
Plays cowboys and Indians and with other toys
which is typical, of most little boys

But to me, typical he is not
He's set aside from the ordinary lot
I alone can understand
the personal feelings of this little man

When he doesn't want to mind his mama at all
How he hesitates, lingers, when she calls
It's childish defiance, I would know
He just wants to see how far he can go

For it hasn't been so many years
That I can't remember, defying my mama
Not meaning to hurt her
But just wanting to know
To what limits, that I could go

We wrestle, we play, have lots of fun
This beautiful, wonderful, tow-headed son
He wants something, looks to me
with a gleam in his eye
I seem to know, and let out a sigh

As I look down, lo and behold
In my son, Mark, who is six years old
-a vision I see, of what used to be
A little boy, that was once
Me.

____________

�� After reading it, no one saw, but I pinned an invisible cape upon my shoulders that day. The one true superhero in my life was sharing his cloth.
��I also wrote my first poem, right after. Because it was something I could have in common with my dad. It wasn't very good. It was awkward, like me. But in it, I could fly. Just like him.

��Decades later, when he died at home, all of us kids were there. I sat beside him and held his hand. But I didn't cry. You don't cry when watching the sun set over a mountain. You marvel.

��I've grown up more like a tree. Tall and lean. And when the sun is setting, it's like his hand, still upon my shoulder. Like a cape. The one that my dad gave me.

��He wasn't much into Heaven and Hell. So he's probably on some mountaintop, sitting on his jacket and watching the sunset roll down the valley below him. I try to look up there sometimes, but everything wavers like a mirage. So I just pull out that poem he wrote me, and my vision is then clear.

�He never said I love you. But he wrote it. I have the proof.

~~~

Written by Styxian

Published 16th Jun 2024 | Edited 19th Jun 2024

Author's Note

The picture is of my dad and my son, about twenty years ago.

#admiration #gratitude #strength

All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.

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Re. My Father's Day

deliabear (Debbie)

16th Jun 2024 5:07pm

This was the coolest father's day story I could ever have read.
I was so captivated by every poignant word.
I love that you found your dad's feelings for you, in the form of an endearing
poem, that in turn has inspired you to write.
To say I loved it would be an understatement.

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