My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: Dad

My Father, Oscar-Poem

My dad was a badass dude,
he bought a Harley—
him and mom would cruise;
up and down California,
Nevada, and Oregon.
He worked and bled for
our provision, I witnessed
first hand when he lobed
his fingers off.
At the height of
his prowess he was unstoppable, fearless, and always full of hope.
We’d sit down for supper
and listen to his wild man
escapades. He showed me how
to shoot straight, never to cower to life, and to have faith. To respect nature,
to eat what you kill,
and to be brave—
to treasure your woman with all your heart and
that family comes first.
He showed me his
frailties and love.
He taught most of my friends
how to make a living–he
taught them a marketable skill.
He wasn’t perfect, no man is.
He faced his own demons, then death with his chin up and
self-respect.
He’s my father and
friend to the bitter end.

Miss my dad

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What does fatherhood mean?

Teaching my youngest
daughter how to swim, and
Making sure she kicks
Her legs hard, as she
Crosses the pool for
The very first time.

Then holding her
Reassuringly in my arms.
And telling her, “I’m
Proud of you”, and seeing
Her brown almond shaped
Eyes sparkle with delight.

It’s reading books with
My son about spiders,
And making sure he enunciates
All his words. And when he
Cries–rubbing his head and
Putting my fingers through
His hair. And saying, “your
The best reader I’ve ever heard.”

It’s cheering for your son when
He pins an opponent and videotaping
His every match; while getting up at 5:30
To practice wrestling moves, before
Driving him to school in the morning
Then picking him up in the afternoon.

It’s taking my eldest daughter
To her very first ballet, and buying
Her the sparkliest dress. While taking
Her to a fancy dinner, and letting her
Know how beautiful she truly is. Today,
I played volleyball with her, laughing
And goofing off until the warmth of
Of dusk brought us both in.

It’s buying my son his first
Writing journal with a
Handsome matching pen,
And letting him know how articulate
He is, “I think you’ll make a great
Poet someday son,
Write as much as you can.”

It’s going to work with my eldest boy,
And letting him know what a
Pleasure it is for me, to work with him
Side-by-side; and, taking
him on his first trip to college;
While, finally getting him enrolled.

It’s picking up my youngest boy
In the morning and
Squeezing him oh so tight,
kissing his neck and breathing
Him in, like it was my last
Dying breath on this earth,
Whispering in his ear,
“I love you so very much.”

It’s looking longingly at my
Wife and remembering how
Beautiful she looked
Pregnant, while I
Jubilantly anticipated,
Our next birth!

Stanislaus County

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I remember while
still a child,
we’d head east
over
Pacheco Pass.

On a another
California
road trip.

The slumber
of summer felt
in the warm
dry air.

Me, in the backseat
with my sisters
staring out
the window
of my fathers car.

sights of the
yellow sunburnt hills.
then the deep
blue of
San Luis
Reservoir,

these,
were forever
imprinted in
the recess of
my mind.

Finally, we’d
hit the valley,

my father
would say,
“Were in
Stanislaus
county.”

In the back seat
my sisters and I’d
giggle as we
mispronounced
Stanislaus.

Instead
we’d say,
“Santa Claus,
Yeah!”

With the
windows down,
the hot musky
smell of grapes and
cherry orchards,

would cause us
to desire the
luscious fruits
of California’s,
Garden of Eden.

“Can we stop
at a fruit stand
dad?”

“We want to
have something
sweet…”

Now, that I’m a dad,
It’s my kids that
are giggling
in the back seat.

Stanislaus County
the memorable,
yet at times
mis-pronounceable name,
is where we live.