This is to the Fathers
This isn’t an ode because men
are raised to be strong and silent
and do things without the need
for praise and remembrance,
for recognition and for tips of the cap
or nods of the head. This is,
instead, a quiet and sincere whisper
to the stoic and proud faces that’ve
seen staring back at us with absolute
and unrelenting wonder since we learned
that we don’t need to learn to breathe.
This is to the fathers.
This is to the ones who watch and let
tears fall no matter how long ago they vowed
that crying just isn’t for them
when we first open our eyes. This is to the
opening of their hearts and the softening
of those red walls that fought so long
to be as strong as possible. This is to
the hands that are too big for the bodies
that are too little and the awkward
way they struggle to keep a hand behind our
necks. To the “Just support the head” that
trickles down their eardrums and lodges itself
like a mantra in their terrified minds.
This is to the fathers.
To the ones that adopt the silly voices
and throw themselves into folly for the chance,
the fleeting chance at a smile on their
children’s lips. This is to the stories
they tell and the characters they invent
and the quick hands to our chubby armpits
when our feet forget to be feet and
turn upside down yet again.
This is to the fathers.
To the nurturing that comes without being taught
and transforms the man into a real man
for the first time. To the world-shaking realization
that real strength lives in vulnerability
and stoicism doesn’t fit quite as well
as unharnessed passion and the colors of
a heart worn on a sleeve.
This is to the smell of freshly cut grass
and the leather of a new baseball glove,
the cologne just applied for the airport
and the way it rubs off on you when
work and life must pull them away.
Away for minutes or hours, days
or weeks, weeks or even months
and the way that your entire face lights up
when they come home again.
This is to the road trips and the
discipline no kid wants but my goodness
we all need. To the shaping of a new man
out of the mistakes and life lessons,
the pitfalls and the glorious victories
of the older man.
This is to the fathers.
To the fumbling through ingredients
and the disastrous results when
left to their own culinary devices.
To the attempt, to the attempt my friends
because it’s in the trying that’s the loving
and it’s in the failure that’s the
triumph. This is to the ready
willing and able to fight for you
even if you’re wrong and even if they know it.
This is to the early morning wake up
and the dress in clothes that are too tight
to sit in offices that are too small
and drive in traffic that is too thick
and eat a lunch that is too greasy
only to work too many more hours to finally
come home again.
This is to the fathers.
To the connection that began 9 months later
for them than for the mothers but sped
itself to catch up the instant our first
scream threatened to faint them to the floor.
This is to the way their smile crawls
across their face with pride when we,
for all of those moments,
remind them of that day. This is to the
quiet confidence and lifetime of lesson
they cannot help but give.
This is to the fathers.
*Happy Father’s Day Daddy-O. Thank you for showing me what it is to be a man.*
