I don’t recall when I began
And I never felt me growing,
But I was four when I heard mother cry.
Grandpa showed me a tree one morn,
Dad planted the day I was born,
An apple tree from seed for me, knee high.
A letter came when I was five,
Said Dad survived, hurt, but alive.
Soon, mother said, comes daddy home from war.
Though it took some getting use to
I know now I would refuse to
Go back to how it used to be before
I saw a man lift the latchkey
In army green, arm in a sling,
A man who beamed when I screamed, “Hi, Daddy.”
Dad and I went fishing one day,
When Aunt May came, shooed us away;
Came home to find a baby sister there.
Firm my tree now, taller creeping;
Grandpa went on, one night sleeping.
My hare won a blue ribbon at the fair.
Mother caught a chill in the rain.
Strife rose again, the same again.
Dad was mad. Still, I had to go to war.
Though it took some getting use to
I know now I would refuse to
Go back to how it used to be before
I brought her home, new wife I had.
It took a while but female style
Beguiled his smile when she said, “Hello, Dad.”
Sis had married, moved north to Maine;
I had a niece I’d never seen.
Fields had gone to weeds, the garden to seed,
Mom was weak, dad wasn’t that strong;
I had been gone for far too long.
No question but that we answer the need,
Our creed, family. Side by side,
The farm grew, thrived, but mother died.
Daddy cried, and my bride, a baby bore.
Though it took some getting use to
I know now I would refuse to
Go back to how it used to be before
My wife gave my son to me, awed
So slight and thin when life begins
How I grinned, his first words then, “Gai, Da-da.”
"Who’s the boy?" Dad asked again.
Same response. "My son, your grandson."
The tree grew apples and a rope-swing tire
That hung too long. No soapbox win
But scouts, sports and girls scored amends.
The year daddy joined mom, our son on fire
With poetry, wit and piety,
Away to university.
Met his wife, a new life, a baby bore.
Though it took some getting use to
I know now I would refuse to
Go back to how it used to be before.
I dream again the dreams I had
Of the lad whose face I embrace,
Whose face is my face, saying, “Hey, GrandDad.”
Citizen Poet 