Copying My Dad

I remember thinking my Dad was being uncharacteristically dramatic when, after buying a new Ford Crown Victoria in 1981, he said it would be the last car he would ever buy. Now that I am the same age as he was then, I understand. Sweet memories. I wish he was still with us – I would love to talk with him now about how to be a man. I didn’t then appreciate fully how wise and strong he was.

Writing poetry is a way for me to talk with him. I like to think he would be interested. I imagine him listening, considering and giving me his response. I would love that so much.

Having cancer has helped me explore what it means to be a man. Perhaps any life changing event would do that. Life becomes precious. All of the good things become precious – the people I love, my country, the earth. And I want more and more to understand everything. I intend to write about this – moving on from understanding prostate cancer to trying to understand life.

In future blogs, I will be posting poems about power, weakness, soul, fairness, bullying, gratitude, prayer, sadness, happiness, toughness, terrorists, envy, lust, anger, pride, a lot about fear and a lot about love. And anything else that comes to mind.

I think Dad will be watching. I will try to live up to his example.

That Crown Victoria was his last car. He died ten years later.

Sex

For the first half century or so of a man’s life after puberty – or at least my life, it often seemed that everything was about sex. Wonderful. Demanding. Challenging. Perfect. Not Perfect. And so on.

Then came prostate surgery. Then came age. And nothing is as it was. Not lost. Different.