My Father's Story

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)