Daddys Poem

Her hair was up in a pony tail,

Her favorite dress tied with a bow.

Today was Daddy's Day at school,

And she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,

That she probably should stay home.

Why the kids might not understand,

If she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;

She knew just what to say.

What to tell her classmates

Of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,

For her to face this day alone.

And that was why once again,

She tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school

Eager to tell them all.

About a dad she never sees

A dad who never calls. 

There were daddies along the wall in back,

For everyone to meet.

Children squirming impatiently,

Anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called

A student from the class.

To introduce their daddy,

As seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,

Every child turned to stare.

Each of them was searching,

A man who wasn't there.

"Where's her daddy at?"

She heard a boy call out.

"She probably doesn't have one,"

Another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,

She heard a daddy say,

"Looks like another deadbeat dad,

Too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,

As she smiled up at her Mom.

And looked back at her teacher, who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,

Slowly she began to speak.

And out from the mouth of a child,

Came words incredibly unique.

"My Daddy couldn't be here,

Because he lives so far away.

But I know he wishes he could be,

Since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,

I wanted you to know.

All about my daddy,

And how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories

He taught me to ride my bike.

He surprised me with pink roses,

And taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,

And ice cream in a cone.

And though you cannot see him.

I'm not standing here alone.

"Cause my daddy's always with me,

Even though we are apart

I know because he told me,

He'll forever be in my heart"

With that, her little hand reached up,

And lay across her chest.

Feeling her own heartbeat,

Beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere there in the crowd of dads,

Her mother stood in tears.

Proudly watching her daughter,

Who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love

Of a man not in her life.

Doing what was best for her,

Doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,

Staring straight into the crowd.

She finished with a voice so soft,

But its message clear and loud.

"I love my daddy very much,

he's my shining star.

And if he could, he'd be here,

But heaven's just too far.

You see he is a Marine

And died just this past year

When a roadside bomb hit his convoy

And taught Americans to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,

it's like he never went away."

And then she closed her eyes,

And saw him there that day.

And to her mother's amazement,

She witnessed with surprise.

A room full of daddies and children,

All starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,

Who knows what they felt inside.

Perhaps for merely a second,

They saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"

To the silence she called out.

And what happened next made believers,

Of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,

For each of their eyes had been closed.

But there on the desk beside her,

Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,

By the love of her shining star.

And given the gift of believing,

That heaven is never too far.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person,

An hour to appreciate them,

A day to love them, but then an entire

Life to forget them.

Send this to the people you'll never forget and

Remember to send it also to the person that sent

it to you. It's a short message to let them know

that you'll never forget them.

If you don't send it to anyone, it means you're

in a hurry and that you've forgotten your

friends.

Take the time…to live and love.

Until eternity. God bless.

Healing power of music

I turned onto the street where my father lives. The closer I got to the house, the more I dreaded seeing him.

Since Mum died and he lived alone, Dad was often angry, and lately he was getting more and more confused. Today promised to be worse than usual. He had a new aid named Liuda, from our home country of Lithuania. The presence of a stranger was bound to make Dad even more irritable.

Sure enough, Dad started complaining as soon as I got in the door. “This new girl doesn’t know anything,” he grumbled.

“It’ll take some time for her to learn how to help you,” I reassured him.

The three of us sat awkwardly in the living room. I wished I could think of something to say. Lord, please help us feel more comfortable with this arrangement. 

Liuda sprang to her feet. Walking over to Dad’s record player, she dropped a Lithuanian folk record onto the turntable. The familiar accordion music played. Dad started singing. Liuda smiled.

The music seemed to drive all the tension from the room. We chatted about Lithuania. It was one of the nicest visits Dad and I had ever had.

When I left he hugged me good-bye and asked me to look at old photos with him and Liuda next time. For a moment I glimpsed the old Dad. The man I’d always loved spending time with.

I’d come to Dad’s expecting the worst. But with Liuda’s help and a little music from the old country, I’d found what I would always love. 

Dad

For 52 years my father got up every morning at 5:30 a.m., except Sunday, and went to work. For 52 years he returned home at 5:30 p.m., like clockwork, for dinner at 6:00 p.m. I never remember my father taking a "night out with the boys," nor do I ever recall my father drinking. All he asked from me as his daughter was to hold his hammer while he repaired something, just so we could have some time to talk to each other. I never saw my father home from work ill, nor did I ever see my father lay down to take a nap. He had no hobbies, other than taking care of his family. For 22 years, since I left home for college, my father called me every Sunday at 9:00 a.m. He was always interested in my life, how my family was doing, and I never once heard him lament about his lot in life. The calls even came when he and my mother were in Australia, England or Florida. Nine years ago when I purchased my first house, my father, 67 years old, spent eight hours a day for three days in the 80-degree Kansas heat, painting my house. He would not allow me to pay someone to have it done. All he asked, was a glass of iced tea, and that a hold a paint brush for him and talk to him. But I was too busy, I had a law practice to run, and I could not take the time to hold the paint brush, or talk to my father. Five years ago, at age 71 again in the sweltering Kansas heat, my father spent five hours putting together a swingset for my daughter. Again, all he asked was that I get him a glass of iced tea, and talk to him. But again, I had laundry to do, and the house to clean. Four years ago, my father drove all the way from Denver to Topeka, with an eight foot Colorado Blue Spruce in his trunk, so that my husband and I could have a part of Colorado growing on our land. I was preparing for a trip that weekend and couldn't spend much time tallied to Daddy. The morning or Sunday, January 16, 1996, my father telephoned me as usual, this time from my sister's home in Florida. We conversed about the tree he had brought me, "Fat Albert," but that morning he called the tree "Fat Oscar," and he had seemed to have forgotten some things we had discussed the previous week. I had to get to church, and I cut the conversation short. The call came at 4:40 p.m., that day, my father was in the hospital in Florida with an aneurysm. I got on an airplane immediately, and on the way, I thought of all the times I had not taken the time to talk to my father. I realized that I had no idea who he was or what his deepest thoughts were. I vowed that when I arrived, I would make up for the lost time, and have a nice long talk with him and really get to know him. I arrived in Florida at 1 a.m., my father had passed away at 9:12 p.m. This time it was he who did not have time to talk, or time to wait for me. In the years since his death I have learned much about my father, and even more about myself. As a father he never asked me for anything but my time, now he as all my attention, every single day.