Father’s Day and Icons

My father was far from perfect
and I likely followed in his footsteps,
carefully not making his mistakes
but finding new ones in my mix
of well being and madness, of strength
and the weakness of broken parts and pieces
patched together.

And so I celebrate father’s day a bit differently,
not the object of the day, but in wonder
that for a time I was trusted with the the job
of being a father, with all it’s joys and confusions,
leaping in with enthusiasm, loving the dynamic
part of the whole thing, kids changing, growing,
creating their own lives and not unlike me

taking bits and pieces, most of them good I am glad to say,
of me with them. They are like art, bright
and a bit unexpected, influenced but created,
not by me but by a world around them
and the grace of God. I am happy
to be part of the paint, a character in the icon
that people will see, without recognizing me,
The only ones knowing where I am
are me, and on a good day, the kids.

About this poem

So, it was going to be an essay on something entirely different, but somehow it morphed into poetry for Father’s Day. Some days I think my muse is mad.

The photograph was taken at the Russian Icon Museum in Clinton, Mass. A tiny little jewel of a museum that brings me peace every time I go there.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom