A little bit of instinct, hidden
In that treasured pocket of your genes.
A chunk of love
The size of your heart.
A life-time supply of self-respect,
Needing none from your children.
A memory overflowing with compassion,
Remembering well what it is
To be angry, hurt,
Withholding, stubborn, lost.
A precious soul all too familiar,
Familiar with the blasphemous fallacy:
So-called tough love,
Too often indistinguishable
From abandonment and cainful revenge.
A beloved heart, perhaps broken
Healing one’s own father wounds.
The ingredients of Fathering.
They are always there,
There for your offspring,
Perhaps even for a stranger,
Perhaps even for yourself.
The ingredients are always there,
There for the trying on, for the wearing, for the taking,
For the being.
Happy Father’s Day
To all who choose to be Fathers
In the many different ways we can be