He taught me how to fix things,
How to make things with my hands.
And he can make me laugh
Like no one else can.
He pulled me on a sled to Chick’s,
The corner store to which we’d
roam.
He’d get us some warm shell
peanuts
And we’d eat them on the way home.
He let me help him shovel the walk
During the snow storm of ’67,
Even though I got in his way
He let me paint the garage when I
was eleven.
He helped me with my homework,
And paid for music lessons, too.
He bought me a shiny new bike
When I got good grades in school.
He took me to the mall each week,
And to the roller skating rink .
My friends and I would pile into
his car
He’d have driven us anywhere, I
think.
He showed me how to drive the car,
And taught me how to fix it, too.
I learned from him the practical
things.
And now these things I’m able to do.
As I grew, he kept me in line
He was firm but was never cruel.
When I married, he danced with me,
I cried, and inside, he did, too.
Who is this guy who is so cool?
Who could this possibly be?
He’s the guy I call father, or
Dad,
And he’s very special to me.
Copyright © 2002 Connie Spector
I lost my dad on August 23, 2003.
I miss you, Pops.
I'll see you again some day.
