HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD

There was this pen and ink drawing I came across when I was but a lad

I asked my mom who drew it, she said, “The artist was your dad.”

This pretty much sums up my dad, you see I never had a clue

In many ways my father was the artist I never knew.

He has been gone now for many years.  He’s become but a thought upon the breeze

This Father’s Day I thought I’d try to find him in a sprinkling of memories. 

I knew him as a quiet man with black hair and a tan.

But other than that I’m not quite sure I ever knew the man.

In all honesty the fact that he was quiet wasn’t very shocking

Because he married a loquacious woman and let her do all the talking.

I remember a man who loved sports, he’d watched his Indians or his Browns

But he only watched the video because he had the sound turned down.

He’d watch sports for 3 to 4 hours every day and on the weekends even more

Every sport he’d watch in silence...I chalked that up to war. 

He went off to fight like many men, in old pictures he’s smiling, showing no fear

In a battle in France during World War II he lost the hearing in his right ear.

He was too proud to admit he couldn’t hear yet that loss he couldn’t hide

So we all spoke a little louder in his presence and sat on his left side.

I remember a man who worked in the post office, who loved to sit out in the sun all day

Who was proud our refrigerator was filled with steaks and whose favorite author was Zane Grey.

But we never talked much, my dad and I, even when I asked him about his art.

And as the years elapsed the two of us grew further and further apart.

Time, however, has helped me see the good qualities my father had

And I’m grateful for the attributes I inherited from Dad.

To help remind me of those qualities...I did something that helps me recall

I had that old pen and ink drawing framed...it now hangs upon our wall.

And some days when I’m home alone and no one else is around

I put a sporting event on TV...and watch it with the sound turned down.