How We Change
Back in the days of my childhood
I felt safe and violence was rare,
I was blessed with wonderful parents
and thought they would always be there.
I was a child of the forties,
born shortly after the war,
my Father had been in the desert
with the Army Medical Corps.
At Christmas we'd visit relations,
Dad and uncle would sit and discuss
all the places they'd been
and the things they had seen,
Army buddies - and not giving up.
Through young eyes my Dad was my hero,
he must have seen terrible things,
I would listen in awe and amazement
as Father would tell of comrades who fell,
booby-traps, minefields and bad dreams.
I remember those years we went fishing
and the toy yacht he bought me one day.
One summer I was bored
so Dad went to the store
- bought a toy he could hardly afford.
Although we never did have much
Mum and Dad would always provide
clothing, good food, love and strong shoes,
Mum often would have to decide.
Dad taught me to ride on a cycle,
a girls' bike was all that we had,
it belonged to my sister
and she let me ride it,
Dad held me so I would not fall.
When I was just twelve years or thirteen
Dad bought me a bike of my own,
not a new one but one from a junk shop,
a sports bike with lights and a horn.
The fact someone owned it before me
didn't bother me one little bit,
Dad taught me to strip it,
clean it and fix it,
so I did that and painted it red.
Through my childhood my parents said little
about how I should learn to behave,
instead they led by example,
live a good life, love others and save.
By the sixties this kid was a rebel,
long hair, fast music, loud clothes,
I didn't break many rules,
never did any harm,
but I knew I had radically changed.
Dad was always there to help me,
to guide me and help me decide,
financing a car, motor-bike or guitar,
Dad was there to help and provide.
My attitude to Dad was obnoxious,
but his love for me didn't change,
I saw him as old,
out of touch, going bald,
but he never got into a rage.
No longer did tales of the desert
fill me with wonder and awe,
I still saw my Dad as a hero
but I wanted no more of "the war".
Every day Dad would sit in our parlour
after lunch and before going back
to the school where he worked,
for subsistence it seemed,
so his principles have my respect.
Around about my age I'd lost him,
just one day before sixty-five,
I was filled with disgust
that he'd given so much,
such a cruel life - no way to survive.
All those days my Dad spent in our parlour
I wondered what he had in mind.
I thought he was sleeping,
reminiscing or dreaming,
maybe thinking of new things to try.
But now as I'm getting older
I realise that wasn't the case,
Dad had to relax, meditate and unwind,
before going back to what he might find,
some sick kids and what else to face.
Too often I wish I had listened
and asked for his wisdom to share,
many times I crave for Dad's guidance
and regret he is no longer here.
So now as I sit in our parlour
I think I know what my Dad did,
he tuned in to Infinite wisdom
to see where he may be led.
I follow my Father's example
and kick back, relax in my chair,
my eyes might be closed,
but not sleeping,
and I know that my Father is there.
So cherish those you have around you,
remember to show them you care,
treat them with respect
and you'll have no regrets
when they have passed on
and you're left on your own
just think of them - they will be there.
Dedicated to my Father who was
much wiser than
I ever gave him credit for. His music went with
him.
© Copyright February 2006 Kenneth G Woolcock
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