Who was my father?
I knew him as Lionel, Albert and
Tiny
I helped him build a shed
A place of his own
A refuge, perhaps shelter?
I knew he went to war
He flew
His friends died
He also killed
I know that he was once a “god”
Silk shirts and shiny shaved
Face
Eyes dark and tender
Hands safe and warm
Our walks to the shop
Each Saturday evening
His holding my hand
Explaining wisdom I did not
Understand
Except that there was a man
On the moon
And he carried sticks.
Too busy with my “Choo Choo” bar
To question
Just the sheen of his face
And the pink
Of the Saturday Night Globe.
What else do I know?
An unhappy marriage
Was it because the war ended?
Or mother no longer interested?
Or just another weary relationship
Poor timing, esteem and dreams undone?
Small betrayals
For they are never big
Rather like a wave
Gathering its own momentum
Colliding upon dry and dead
Indifferent sand
I witnessed his low self esteem
The meaning of who he was
Eyes no longer aglow
Confidence careful and slow
A loss of meaning
Connection to what he was
I knew him as he set sail
On his steady journey
To be a lonely soul
He spoke to me
But then only in terms
I could never measure
Up to
Or were they terms he had
Set for himself
And failed?
I knew my father
When he was talking
Was I listening
Or simply thinking?
What about?
Me.
But what of my father?
Did I care about the force
Of the winds that blew
Around him?
Did I ever stop
To consider his dismay?
The dim and cruel reality
Of war; home and away:
High reduced to
A low
A shed in which to
Hide in
As if his skin was not
Enough?
A place to drink and smoke
Don’t create any fuss
Just come in for dinner
I knew my father
But it was just
Too late
Am I now sitting here
Copying him
Alone?
Perhaps and one day
My son will tell?
I knew my father
He was a quiet man
I sat with him in a
Hospital
His body being eaten alive
But still a gentle smile
Those early Saturday night
Memories
Us holding hands and sharing
Wisdom
But I had no “choo choo” bar
In my hand
So what did he leave me?
I still don’t know.
He gave me the power
Over his life support
I made my decision
Kissed him goodbye
Watched him turn to marble
And walked away
So why do I miss him?
Because I knew my father
He may have been
Just a man
But he is my man
As I am his
Perhaps that is why
I knew my father?

John Segon-Fisher
19 May 2009