(An early Father’s Day poem)
When I was little
your face was behind a camera
capturing moments of my small life,
fearlessly climbing the steps on the tallest slide,
thigh high stretches for a toddler,
far above your head,
no pain had touched me.
Your greatest gift was security
to grow up confident in your love.
No one else ever loved me so well
or with such shameless devotion.
Oh, how great my loss.
When I miss you,
as I often do,
my memories are lit with
Yes. That is the father I have tried to be. It changes as everyone grows, but you’ve nailed the bottom line. My daughter is 40 now, but that is the feeling I still have, watching her on that slide…
I needed to see this. My daughter is 11 now and I am wrestling with taking a job for a foot in the door that’s far from her.
If she ever feels a fraction of emotion in this poem, I may feel better. Thanks for posting this.
For what it’s worth, my father was a travelling salesman for most of my life and yet I don’t remember a single event of significance that he missed. His presence overwhelmed any absences. May your daughter feel the same!
this is beautiful.