Your walk toward the platform
seemed almost casual,
swinging your arms with ease
climbing the ramp to the stage
with little effort,
having grown to the height
of a young man full of promise.

I can remember
that cold rainy November night
when your mom and dad arrived,
you wrapped in a small blanket.

I can remember
the first moment I saw you
inside our pop-up camper.
You slept
the sniffled-breathing baby sleep
that you would eventually
master like no other I have seen.

Impressed with your parents'
confidence in your three-month life
to take you camping
in the simi-wild of the state park,
I delighted at your squirming
little pink presence.

I remember
our car trips
and the amazing force of your lungs
projecting a joyful noise
causing me to wish for earplugs.

I remember
the way you drew
the enormous love of family
sparked by your spritely spirit.
Unmistakable in your presence
you made your mark
in our hearts.

I remember
our early risings
to leave the camper
for the banks of Lake Whitney
hoping the Sandies
would mistake our lures for breakfast.

I remember
your tears the first time you bled
from handling the Kastmaster
and my assurance
that you had not fished
if you didn't hook yourself at least once
and your sniffling protest:
"But I am just a little child."
You stopped crying
when I told you it was ok to cry.
Then you asked me to help you cast again.

It was not long
before you learned to cast
yourself out into the world
and you were hooked on wonder
eager to learn.

You became a learner
and with confidence
you exercised your mind
and became a superb young athlete.

As surely as you needed
our attention and our time
for your first two decades,
you now again cast out,
your tackle-new talents and gifts.

With keen eagerness
we await the bounty
of your catch.

08/06/2006

Author's Note: Dedicated to my nephew Jeremy Kowis upon his graduation from Texas A & M Corpus Christi - August 5, 2006

Posted on 08/07/2006
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier