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Personal Note:
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Poem
Zero. 
I imagine you watched,
With awe and wonder
At the image on the screen,
My movements 
In black and white,
As the sonographer moved the wand,
Up and down
The belly of my mother,
Showing you 
Mystery and excitement,
The next chapter 
Of your lives.

One.
You gave me ice cream
When you
Definitely
Were
Not
Supposed
To,
And I think a bond formed.
Mischief by mouthfuls,
We were already unstoppable.

Two, Three, Four.
Toddler time,
Together,
My earliest memories
Envelope your face,
Warmth and fatherhood,
I’m safe and loved.

Five.
I start kindergarten.
Nervous,
But you drive me to school,
Tell me that you’ll be waiting
And I know
You’ve never broken a promise.

Six, Seven, Eight, Nine.
We all know how these years went.
There were lighter years,
That’s for sure. 
But I didn’t block everything out from
These darker times,
For there was still some good,
Treehouse,
Zipline,
Archery.
Fun in an era that I was 
Not 
Allowed
To be a child in.
You see,
You were there,
And you make things brighter,
And you made it easier to carry.

Ten. 
I started to ask you if I 
Could work with you,
You agreed,
And I happily
Washed the dishes
In the back of house,
Your restaurant,
Your domain,
I watched you work.
For the first time 
In my life,
I began to notice,
The truest 
Form of the life you
Put together for us,
Step by step,
Tray by tray,
Bill by bill.

Eleven, Twelve.
I came out to Mom,
I worried,
You were my best friend,
I feared
For a potentially changed opinion
Of me,
Your child,
Should you have known,
The truth. 
But I told you anyways,
And to my surprise,
You smiled,
Told me
For at least the thousandth time
Your love for me
And made dinner,
Always providing
Not just the bare essentials,
But adoration and unconditionality. 

Thirteen. 
You found a note
I wrote
To you and Mom,
About the bullying. 
I begged for you to
Keep it a secret,
And you did,
My confidant,
But you let me cry,
And listened,
Always listening,
Always. 
Listening. 

Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen. 
Daddy,
It feels like
It will never end,
This darkness inside me is festering,
It’s getting stronger,
Deeper,
Larger, 
And I don’t know how to stop it. 
But something inside me knows,
That I can tell you about it.
I don’t have the words,
I don’t have the drawings,
Hell,
I don’t have anything,
But you understood,
You understand. 
Suicide and bleeding,
And it gets worse, 
Before it gets better,
If it gets better,
The signs 
Aren’t showing yet. 
But you were there,
And you held my hand
In the hospital beds,
And slept in the hospital chairs,
After work,
Watched with tired eyes,
As I sunk deeper,
And your love never wavered.

Nineteen. 
The thing about numbered list poems,
For sequential ages,
Is that you can realistically,
Only write to your current age.
So Dad,
I’ll tell you now. 
I don’t know where I’m going yet,
I don’t know what our future holds,
I sure as hell don’t know what mine does. 
But since birth,
You’ve been here. 
You’ve been here and it’s never been fake. 
You’ve been here and it’s never been fake and it’s always been love. 
But the darkness isn’t gone, 
I don’t know that it ever will be.
I wanted to make this a perfect poem for you,
A saccharine sweet one,
Because you are so deserving of perfection from your children,
But Dad,
I’m scared,
And I’m sorry,
And I’m learning,
And I’m teaching, 
And I’m
Finally,
Finally,
Figuring out,
Because of you,
That I don’t have to face it all alone. 

Happy Father’s Day,
I love you more than anything. 
Love,
Oliver
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