My Dad

As I sit here
with my son sleeping beside me,
I feel the love
and the fears,
the responsibilities
and the joys,
of being a father.

Before he drifted off to sleep,
my son stroked my morning stubble
with the perfect softness
of his tender hand.
In that moment I remembered
all the times
my own hand
had touched the rough strength
of my Dad’s face.

I can’t say that growing up
I ever understood my Dad.
At times he was perfect,
and I found comfort in his strength,
his joy for life,
and his love.

At times he was terrible,
and I hid from his wrath
and the confusion
his anger brought to my heart.
I didn’t understand
that Dad was just human.

He seemed bigger than life
when I was young.
As I got older,
I saw his imperfections
too clearly….

I lacked the wisdom
to see
that like me
he was struggling, too,
to live this life.

Now at 30
I have been tested by life
and discovered in those tests
what it means to be human.
And with this knowing,
I see my Dad
as the loving spirit
he truly is.

I regret the times
I’ve missed his love
in my own rush to judge.
I realize now
as father to my own son
that I have my faults.

I have Impatience,
Anger,
Fear,
Jealousy,
and more I don’t wish to list.

But I learned from my Dad
that if you can love through the pain
of seeing your son struggle
with his own life
while you struggle with yours,
you will be blessed
with moments of sacred wonder
as when your son strokes your rough face
as he drifts off to dream
of life, and love,
and Dad.