I sit across from him at the kitchen table. He speaks from wisdom only found in those who have lived life fully. As a boy I don’t remember much time spent with him, but the time I do remember is precious to me. He probably doesn’t know just how important those times were. He probably doesn’t realize how much of him is me.
I find myself mimicking him often. Attempting to be as wise as he. My facade is only a cover hiding my inner torment of knowing I will never be as successful as he. I once said to him “Dad, why don’t you do something better with your life?”. I was much younger and very foolish. I know it hurt him then. How could I even believe that he was not a success even then.
Look at him sitting there, not a care in the world. Not owing a dime to anyone, and having his whole life to look back on. He tells stories of his past experiences to me each time I visit. And oh those stories. Most of which I’ve heard time and again. Never do they get old, never does he get old.
He grew up fast, having to deal with life on his own. His parents orphaned him as a preschooler. Leaving him to watch over his two younger brothers. Always trying to keep his only family together. Moving from one foster home to another made it tough. He learned to change diapers at age five. And me, foolishly saying make something of your life. Look at him now. He’s looking back at me from the other side of the table.
What makes a man? Not money or fame. Not fancy cars or the size of his portfolio. What makes a man is having the strength to stand up to his peers and say I am me. I have good and I have bad, and the combination is ME, and no one else.
He gives me my strength to strive for my ME. I have searched for it in many places and in many ways. I have failed at things I wanted so badly. Through it all, he has been there. Ready to pick me up by the seat of my pants, dust me off, and give me just enough courage to go out and look for ME again. That’s me now, sitting across from him at the table. Looking for another ounce of courage to go on. How much longer will he be there for me? In some ways forever! I only wish that I could be there for him by now. But I am still not ready. When will I ever be ready? When will I ever find ME?
As I glance toward my future I have to wonder, will I ever possess the wisdom that my father has? Will I ever have children that will respect and love me as I love my father? And will they sit across my kitchen table looking for my courage and wisdom?
Written by
John J. Williams, Jr.
(c)May 30, 1990
3 comments:
Very poignant, John. You have inspired me to call my father and tell him just how much I love and appreciate him.
John. Well said. There are many times we all have upset our parents, but their love was unconditional. Your dad was a sweetheart and your mom too
Your parents knew how much you loved them. Your very special for keeping their memory alive ever year. Hugs and love
John, Again, you brought tears and many memories with this poem. Your parents were the best. Makes me happy to know your loving and fondest memories will not fade as you honor your dad on this special day. Many hugs, may your memory of them always be there. Love Gloria
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