To Father: a Revision

Some days I can’t get up in the morning can’t force my eyes to open or persuade my muscles to work. Some days I can’t get up in the morning until you sit on the side of my stark, white-comforter-covered bed and jokingly ask me if I’m up. Some days I can’t get up in the morning until my one finger sticks up and I admit that, yes, I am, in fact, up. Some days I can’t even get up in the morning until you physically haul my butt out of bed landing with a thump and a laugh on the floor. You have such a light to you. And that light has made that rough and perilous journey from my childhood idealistic fantasies to my sometimes harsh, teen-years-enhances “realities” in one shining piece. And I have admiration for your tenacity I have admiration for you perseverance I have admiration for your never letting me go. For through these past for years I have proven to be something more than anyone ever thought I was going to be. And by my side you have stuck through it all an admirable quality to say the least and to say the most one that makes me love you even more than oh-so-very-much. Some days I can’t get up in the morning without having the sound of your voice to give me an incentive to start the day. Because those Some days are the days when you are one of the very few only things that I know will be there for me that I know I can look forward to no matter what. And, simply put: I love you no matter what.