 |
| Zack and Jack, Sunset Beach 1991 |
Dear Daddy,
It’s been
more than ten and less than a score of years
Since we
slipped you under the sweet southern soil
With a
sharpened Barlow tucked deep into the pocket of your best Sunday suit.
I never thought I’d see you again.
But this week, the week before Father’s Day, I did.
1.
I saw your freckles on my younger son when he strode along
the ocean’s shore. I saw them all about his chest and neck and face, but on his
shoulders a dense sprinkle of cinnamon colored spots, Daddy, they were yours.
2.
And in the older son, I saw your careful mind, weighing and
measuring the pros and cons of a new car. He used an electronic spread sheet,
Daddy, to capture what you would have noted in your strong, even hand on the
crisp page of a yellow legal pad.
He was deliberate and exact and when he makes his selection,
it will be solid. Like yours.
3.
I saw the love you had for Mama in the eyes of my sons when
they gazed at their wives.
I saw in them
You and Mama
standing side by side, at the edge of the Atlantic, in the
breaking waves, staring at the great, wide ocean, holding hands, alone amidst a
sea of people.
Just as the worlds around my sons and their wives, shrunk
and narrowed for each pair into a space that could only hold two. They married well,
Daddy. They married well.
So Daddy, this Father’s Day I miss you. But I sure was happy to
see you.
 |
| Mary Frances, Nat, Jack, Sunset Beach 1988 |
