If my father was living, he would celebrate this day his 98th birthday. He's been gone 22-years. As a young boy, I always enjoyed competing with my Dad. I recall when I was eight years old, we would often race down an alley to a telephone pole. A few years ago, I wrote these words remembering...
Catching Up With Dad
I raced down the alley to a telephone pole,
I gave it my all seeking that coveted goal.
My opponent, my father, my hero no doubt,
Would this be the time I win and then shout?
The races, shooting baskets and backyard games,
I competed against my model and desired the same.
Just once to win against the giant of a man,
To prove to my Dad, I will and I can.
One time so close another oh so near,
Was the edge his years or perhaps my fear?
Then one day it happened, victory over Dad,
Oh, the sweetness somehow mixed with the sad.
Many years have gone by and I race no more,
My father is gone, no need to keep score.
I stroll through the park noting others at play,
I watch the young father and son on this day.
They huddle, they chat then point to a sign,
'Ready Set,' then it is off to that line.
The lad tries so hard but not up to the task,
Yet time changes all, soon Dad places last.
These changing roles all part of a plan,
The secret you know, is to race while you can.
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