to my ears by whb2

Last month my father would have turned 82

Seven years has gone by since I saw him last. They tell you with time it gets better but for me better is not so simple
As I entered his hospital room the boom box under my arm drew stares and caused at least one confirmed eye roll. The prodigal son had arrived.

My Dad the wordsmith, Hard working and Strong, Builder of houses
, A teacher who coached Basketball and Track, My idol, who while in high school held a world record in the Pole Vault (only the crazy or extremely brave race down a track at top speed,
then launch themselves High into the air with a poll)…

My extremely brave Father who had survived surgery, could manage to utter but a single word or two. The surgery had stolen away his ability to speak. 

Don’t be alarmed the doctor said.  He will learn how to speak again…with time
This is normal for those who’ve had a tumor-removed. The trauma during surgery is the cause. 

None of which I found comforting or normal.
What the doctor failed to understand was the main tool of my Fathers trade was his voice. And Dad had another surgery ahead of him so time
 was not in abundance.

As I sat in the chair next to his bed I could see that he was tired, on a whole different level. Could see that he had made up his mind…to rest. And with all that I both had and wanted to say to him, though I had not gone through surgery-I too lost my ability to speak.

I pressed the play button and Al Green began to sing and those who rolled their eyes, stared or felt music at a time like this was inappropriate, left the room.

Which was fine with me.

Because my Dad and I sat listening and smiling, with heads nodding to the rhythm, as tears streamed down our faces. 

“I can think of younger days when living for my life 
Was everything a man could want to do 
I could never see tomorrow 

but I was never told about the sorrow 

“How can you mend a broken heart
“How can you stop the rain from falling down
“How can you stop the sun from shining
“What makes the world go round?
Later that evening after everyone had gone my father left us

It’s been seven years since he passed. 

They tell you with time 
it gets better, but for me better is in a constant state of flux. In time my hurt was gradually replaced by
 acceptance then acceptance segued into understanding, and through my faith I know that love never dies. The illustration of which is the love I have and share for My wife and children, is the same love that my Dad had and shared with me.

It’s just that every now and again, I have my moments when I long for those days where my father was able to deliver his love to me…in person

When those moments hit me I press play, close my eyes, listen to AG sing
 and I can still see my father’s warm, sly smile. 

And I’m quick to tell anyone who will listen, If I possess any good qualities, without hesitation I give my amazing Mom full credit for them. 
 But my Father
 is my measure, the goal if you will, that I seek to achieve

 for the type of man that I will continue to be.

Which is why, while typing this-not really a poem, on more occasions then a few I had to tilt my head back and urge my eyes to drink up the tears welling in them.

Sing it Al!

“I jus wanna
“I jus wanna 
“I jus wanna 
“I jus wanna
“I jus wanna

“Live again…baby 

“How can you mend this broken man?
“Somebody tell me how can a loser ever win 
“Help me mend my
This old broken heart
“I think I…
I know I 
“I believe I… I wanna, 
“I feel like I got ta…
“I feel like I want to live again!

Hey Dad, you want to hear it again?


We sat there in his hospital room that day listening to that song over and over again  
This Father and son 

who loved one another so, and found a way to speak to one another through a song, that is forever etched in our hearts. 
Peace Dad, I Love you.


When we take a minute to reflect and enjoy the full spectrum of influence “WE” have on the world…Damn! it’s a fantastic reality. Of course you already know there are those who find fault with or have a problem in OUR celebration of US, but Fuck em!

We are far more then we sometimes allow ourselves to be.

Nelson Mandella said: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. it is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. (and others). We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you NOT to be.

You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you! We are all meant to shine!



Nelson Mandela

…and WHB2