A Thank You Letter to My Father Too Late

To my father,

Dad to my brothers and I,

Husband to my mother,

Man of the house,

The alpha male,

The bearer of seed.

I cannot defend my actions

As my habits have overrun

Their banks

And are now a flood,

Spreading across the plain:

A lifestyle.

From afar

And next door,

You have frowned

At the cresting waves

Beating at the foundation

Of the house,

Built with your own hands,

Meant to last a lifetime,

Now,

Mildew creeps up the walls

And cracks form between joints,

All is not well

In this happy home.

So a defense

I will not attempt,

For there is none.

You tilled my land

Before my hand

Could steady the plow.

Too young to fend for myself,

You wrapped me

In a father’s love

And kept me

From the harshness of winter.

Your hand was not soft,

Though,

Often your correction

Made your love

Easy to forget,

Like a medicine sweetened,

Fooling no child

With its color or taste.

You did not spare the rod,

Fearing the spoiling.

You pushed, prodded, poked,

Forced me along

Without my approval or consent.

You did this for me,

For this,

I thank you.

But the hardness of your hand

Was softened by the look in your eyes.

I lived for those words

Of praise.

A new talent mastered,

A magical phrase learned,

A directive followed,

You spoke kindly.

Not as often as I wished,

Nor as much as I needed,

But not as few as I remember.

The rage of the storm

Steals the birdsong

From the treetops

And replaces it

With the breaking of branches.

My childhood was one of fire.

My childhood was one of water.

Fitting that my birth

Mirrored the elements.

Burning with shame,

Cooled with love.

Flaming with anger,

Soothed with praise.

Fire and water,

My father.

For these two,

I thank you.

At 14,

Wandering the streets of the capitol,

You could not understand

My desolate longing,

My empty soul,

My hollowed chest,

My vacuum of mind.

You mocked,

You shamed,

You stood,

Watched,

But did not,

Could not understand.

Had your heart never been broken?

Had you never felt alone with your family?

Had angst never filled your heart?

Your coldness

Chilled me.

The icy grip of embarrassment,

The absolute rejection of emotion,

For that pain,

And the lesson learned,

I thank you.

I sometimes think of you

As the Almighty.

Your perfection is too much

For this mortal,

And I squirm beneath

Your all-powerful thumb,

That gaze that will not leave me,

Light or dark, night or day.

God is love,

But your love has a price,

An expectation

Of achievement.

And maybe my failures

In Dallas,

Among so many other God(father)-fearers,

Encapsulated by my own choice,

Felt to you like an insult,

A parting jab

As the door closed.

Little do you know,

That through all that idiocy,

The demerits,

The penalties,

The probations,

I still feared you.

That day,

Waking up to you,

In my room,

Your eyes full of,

Only You know what,

Staring at me.

I could say nothing,

I, a man of unclean lips,

I, a sinner without hope of grace,

I, your son.

And I chose my friend,

Of my own name

And ilk,

Over your advice.

I have no apology

Up to the task

Of making that wrong

Right.

Yet,

You drove away,

Left me in that place,

Knowing I would fail.

And for that confidence in my failure,

I thank you.

When David died,

My deity became a man.

I watched you cry

For the first time that day.

I wondered,

Would you have mourned the same

For me

Had I traded places

With my brother?

Him to your side,

Me, in the grave?

For your tears,

I thank you.

My degree

Meant little to you,

Sometimes I think

Not a thing.

You disregard

My knowledge,

Trading it instead

For the words of pundits,

The talking heads

Who lack minds.

You do not question their words,

Nor their motives,

But for me,

The cynical eye remains

All-seeing.

For that eye,

I thank you.

And now,

Once divorced,

Twice married.

Fired once,

Too often quit,

Having wondered this county

In search of love

And finally found it,

Without a calling,

Without a single unshaken thought,

Without anything but my mind,

I offer to you

This song,

These pages,

This single thought:

My father,

I thank you.

Upcoming show, Moonbean's. On the 10th. 730.