Dedicated To My Father
Who is this man,
whose head is gray & balding now?
Is this the man
who pushed me in my carriage
each evening to stop my crying?
Is he the same man
who let me tag along
behind him as he worked outdoors?
He looks so different
than the man who taught me
to ride my bike,
throw a baseball,
and showed me how to hold a bat.
Is he the same man
who let me cry
when I was sad,
and never asked why?
I know he is the same man,
because the lines upon his face,
were probably caused by me.
He taught me to cook,
and also let me
saw and nail at his workbench.
He watched me march in parades,
and play the piano,
yet he worked at two jobs
to keep me fed and clothed.
He made time to take me camping,
and taught me how to build a fire,
and didn't laugh at me
as I put up a tent.
Is he the same man
who listened to me,
and gave me choices,
instead of advice?
He took walks with me,
and delighted in the fact
that I could always match his pace.
He waited up for me
when I was out on a date,
and worried that I'd be safe.
When it was time for me to go,
he didn't hold me back,
as he knew he'd taught me well,
and only wanted my happiness.
Is this the same man
who told me to ask him anything,
and he would answer as best he could?
Of course, he is,
because he has not changed.
Maybe a bit more bald,
a bit more gray,
a bit more weight around his middle,
but he is still my dad.
-C. Webber
©1998
