Happy birthday, Dad.
No title for this one comes to mind–though feel free to suggest one–just memories of a good man who’s done more than his fair share for me.
Happy birthday, Dad.
No title for this one comes to mind–though feel free to suggest one–just memories of a good man who’s done more than his fair share for me.
Today is my father’s birthday. When I was little, we had a tree by the driveway. He would pick me up, put me in the branches, then climb up himself. There he would tell me stories and feed my imagination. There’s an argument to be made that he overfed it considering my career path. I wouldn’t have it any other way. This poem is for my father.