The Hero of Des Moines
Looking backward one can see so clearly.
The priceless diamond held loosely in hand.
Did not seem as vital but merely
What most every kid had in the heartland.
The sidelines were of no significance
For the players with no one in the stands.
But for me there was a stark difference.
I had the best of fans who understands.
I saw him with each glance from a sports field.
A pinched nerve once laid me out on the ground.
He ran to the scene, his concern revealed.
And when I looked up he was was looking down.
My highest reward was to make him proud.
Those spoken words healed me deep from within.
Lifted me in confidence and allowed,
Growth and hope of one day being like him.
He was the humble hero of Des Moines,
For a solo tackle of a bank thief.
We sat so proud on the couch and were joined,
By the local news who shared our belief.
We hiked the Smokies and Isle Royal.
Looked down in Yoho upon Emerald lake.
Each of these memories a portrayal.
Of my dad sharing himself for my sake.
Thanks for late nights writing english papers.
Teaching me to drive with three on the tree.
Two examples of actions proved shapers,
Of my life and the others besides me.
I miss the maps on the kitchen table.
And the backyard fort you raised up on stilts.
The long drive to college that enabled.
A new chapter, our relationship built.
I know you as a father and a friend.
You showed me how love and goodness out runs,
Thieves of all sorts and that’s why I contend,
You alone are the hero of three sons.
Copyright © John Grindle | Year Posted 2020
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