I’m the last deadbeat,
suckling undeservedly
on your sympathy

resist the contempt
bred by familiarity;
just appreciate.

image: Denise Gould

a man of substance,
eschewing symbology,
shows love quietly.

On Father’s Day I wanted to creep back into the habit of expressing something relevant about my father.

It’s funny how most of what I admire about my father revolves around the concept of quiet expressions of love through action. Maybe it fascinates me because it goes against the grain of what I tend to do when I write. No matter what words I can manage, they will pale against the profound eloquence of those simple, often selfless actions that have been the hallmark of my father’s life as I’ve observed it.

So before I muddy it up with any more flailing attempts at eloquence, I just want to say thanks to my father, and wish all the other dads out there a great Father’s Day.

Agnes Lucia,
7 pounds, 15 ounces,
born this past wednesday.

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dad turns 70,
reveling in a lifetime
and its memories.