Posted by: Postordinandy | June 15, 2014

Fathers’ Day

The Balloon I was given was marked:

“To my Dad, my hero“.

It was a freebie from a retail chain,

Price-less and priceless.

Hand-written, the postscript told the bigger truth:

“From your lovery girls”.

A white ball of air, on a plastic pole,

Cherished by those who gave and received.

Present, absent, attentive or distracted,

The word father’ can launch so many emotions.

We all have one, at least,

And he may be everything he hoped to be,

Or not.

It’s a tough job,

To nurture the seed sown,

To cradle the potential of a child,

To do what you can – even when you have no idea what to do.

So hopeful and helpless,

Child and father too.

He watches in the wings,

Cheers and weeps,

Rejoices when success is found,

And holds when disappointment comes.

And each of us, we stare back over our shoulders,

To the long line of those in whose shadow we walk,

Who whisper – keep going son,

As we determine to be better than they,

For the benefit of our loverlies.

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