Dear Old Dad ~ (Closure)

Dear Old Dad ~ (Closure)

This is the story about my dear old dad.
He was my fatherly-mother and quite often he was called a cad.
He got us by just fine and all alone and he did the best he could
just with what he had.

My dad sat around the house in his t-shirt and underwear.
And quite frankly, we didn’t even seem to care.
In his day they didn’t have such proper clothing etiquettes.

He was a wounded maritime sailor after surviving many great storms out at sea.
But the hardest shipwreck he’d ever faced was back at home on this rocky shore
of domestic tranquility.

Working alone since his youth inside Poseidon’s grave yard,
crashing among shoals often left scars.
Then running aground like this at home must have been very hard.

He was a real God-fearing man but in this new domestic life now
it was never written in God’s Plan, that:
Parenting skills was obviously missing somehow.

Something was lost in that old time religious psychology
for this man’s simple rearing technology,
when that’s all that he held so dear
in his misled biblical-faith-based hand it is now very clear.

Spare the rod, thus spoiling the child, is the rule that he was always told
which he ceremoniously used but he didn’t go wild or exert it too bold.

His own youth was robbed by the war and with raising us 3 kids
but he never abused us at all as some say that he did.

He never graduated from school or had any grades on a report card
but one doesn’t need rocket science to see that in his heart of emotions
he was never really all that hard.

And on my birthday like a good parent he would always send me a money card
showing me that he’d remembered and as a loving parent, he did go that extra yard.

On my 59th birthday he had died that same year.
Think I saw him in a cloud then with his eyes full of tears.

I said, Dad, I still love you and forgave you long-long ago,
and you’re in heaven now with the angels
where my love is felt even more so.

This Man’s Legacy is here now of what I write,
for this dad called mom…
and picking up this fight….or
Bringing light to his plight…

Now, that’s the history of which I’ve told
To correct the stigmas that these negative seeds
had once upon a time sowed.

This is my story, and that’s who I am,
writing down these accounts
for my own son to understand,
and doing poetic justice for some
wherever and whenever I possibly can.

Though he never threw me any footballs
or let me take a swing with a baseball bat,
Resting gently in my memories of him now,
I do remove my hat.

R.I.P. Dad R.I.P.
You did better than most with what you had.

With pencils down my work here is done.
I write these words today for every father and son.

I love you Dad. I love you. Thank you.

May 28, 2012

Tim Gega