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Father Enigma
by Chris Sorrenti
I reach out to you with kid gloves
as I have for 43 years
you never catching my grasp
the temptation to throttle any emotion
out of those newspaper obsessed eyes
telling me the exercise pointless
what goes on behind that shield
of politics, weather, and sports?
are there dreams still radiating
from hands permanently roughened
by factory machine shops?
honorably discharged from the rat race
already too long ago
what personal demons haunt you?
after the 11 o’clock news
has again sidetracked us
from our first ‘heart to heart’
and though inches shorter than me
for several years
I find myself still looking up to someone
once seen only as the giver of pain
with my own maturity and wisdom
seeing you transformed into superhero
to wife/mother –
still happily married after four decades
computer programmer daughter
successful businessman middle child
and me - by day - mild mannered
though well paid paper pusher
by night - neurotic poet at large
and despite still waiting to meet the man
who never threw a football
or took me aside
for that all important father to son talk
each day finds me in some ways
more and more like you
and damn proud of who I’ve become
© 2000
1,180 hits as of March 2024
01/17/2013 Author's Note: This would have been my father’s 87th birthday. At the end of his life (March 30, 2012), he had in many ways become the child, and me the parent. For example, holding hands to cross a street, as the strength in his legs and balance were all but gone. The interesting thing was that it felt perfectly natural...to both of us...a right of passage so to speak. And the enigma had finally lifted. During that period we had many ‘heart to hearts.’ Many “I love yous”. Aside from cherished shared memories, that’s all we had left. For a man who had never showed any emotion all his life, he cried openly...often...about the loss of my mother, 2 years before, and so many other things. For me, the mourning continues, and I’m beginning to wonder if it ever really ends. And maybe that’s what mourning is all about...meant to be; a deep missing of someone you love, until the time you are reunited. Will it diminish? At this point it seems doubtful.
Posted on 01/18/2013
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 01/18/13 at 01:29 AM It's such an interesting phenomenon. My aunt has been experiencing the same with my grandmother, and I did as well, when we lived together - me, her caretaker. And she was a parent to me as I grew up, my fear of her criticism always daunting until I was "the parent" and she "the child". You always have a way of reaching right inside with your words. I'm so sorry for your loss. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 01/18/13 at 02:18 AM I'm glad for you if you come to terms with your father, if that is what this is. Very well done! |
| Posted by Christel Crews on 01/18/13 at 03:10 AM you know, i think mourning is something that never fully goes away, because we continue to carry them in our hearts, our minds, and our spirits - so they never leave us, but we miss their physical presence in our lives.. we miss the tangible. this is a great read and i'm glad you were able to have those moments with your father before he passed.. what a cherished time! and you will see him again :) take heart, friend! |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/18/13 at 05:34 AM So good. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 01/19/13 at 02:51 PM it breaks my heart to read this, Chris. my father faced similar circumstances and I lost him in 1990. he would have been 98. a great tribute you have penned here. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/20/13 at 02:03 AM I feel I know you much better by getting to know your dad. This a very moving read - the author's note gives a welcome added perspective. |
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