When I reflect back on the childhood I had,|
how I watched TV and pretended.
I wanted a Ward Cleaver relationship with Dad,
he was my father, that’s where it ended.
He laid down the rules and the consequences,
gray areas just did not exist.
Creative stories never mounted good defenses,
you ducked quickly if you knew he was pissed.
If he felt any love he kept it hidden quite well,
no hugs or praise were coming my way.
There were so many times when I wanted to tell
him, “I love you”, words that he just couldn’t say.
He passed on when I was just a young twenty-three,
with an infant son of my own to raise.
We had never gotten to square the parental disparity
that haunted me in my formative days.
At the funeral I searched for tears, they were absent,
in fact, I didn’t feel a loss for quite some time.
In my voyage through adulthood I learned to resent
the lack of fatherly advise to help ease the climb.
The good that I’ve managed to salvage from it all
has been passed on to my kids, who I’m so proud of.
They’re grown and on their own, when they do call
I wouldn’t dream of making them beg for my love.
Submitted for 'You Decide the Title' challenge
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