I hardly got to know you; then you were gone.
I was barely 16 when you passed on,
and time, it just moves right along.
Your photo album fell apart,
this is where this story starts --
as I put it back together, this is what I found:
You were a child like any other
with a father and a mother
and a pretty large family—
four sisters and four brothers
and there were two others
that barely lived past infancy.
Just a small town lad,
more good than bad--
not so different than my own son.
You were a natural musician
and had an inclination
to kid around and have fun.
|My dad, bottom, about 23 yrs. old.|
When World War II came,
you volunteered your name--
Army Air Corp was now your career.
You learned how to fly,
off to Burma, the C.B.I.
Wonder how you handled fear?
Back to your home town
you returned to settle down,
married someone you’d always known.
At thirty-four I arrived,
the “twinkle in your eye”…
at forty-one my mom was gone.
You did your best by me
the two of us were family--
we always had enough.
From the life we shared
I knew you cared --
you raised me strong and tough.
Though I hardly knew you well,
and you never got to tell
all the stories that I wish I knew--
I see your legacy living on
in your grown grandson--he’s so very much like you.
He has creative inclinations,
music skipped a generation
and jumped from you to him.
And it should come as no surprise
that I see you in his eyes --
You’re so very much the same.
You were a friend and a brother,
husband to my mother
but in photos no one can see --
for the brief time we had
you were such a good dad --
and will always be special to me.
Copyright © Ginny Brannan May 2010
|My dad and me, July 1972 (last photo together)|