My Forty Nine and a Half Year Old Boy
I spent years sitting on my can believing I had to live properly
Rather than chase or choose or pursue the dreams that I dreamed.
Iím learning dreams come true now and see it happening a lot.
Lately things have been getting done with dreams Iíd near forgot.
They are rising up in healing waves of confidence and joy
And who I have to thank for it is a forty nine and a half year old boy.
I call him a boy for his baby face charm and the clean way
He has of pretending his little mistakes are the plan of the day.
And because if I chide him for anything he gives me that cute look
Like the child that gets most folk to see a prankster, not a crook.
Mostly I call him a boy because he has the will and has the way
To take 24 hours and make them count a fully measured day.
He makes the most of every minute like a boy before bed.
He lives each hour like it matters if he misses something said.
He cares and hopes and keeps his secrets like worms in his pocket.
I find them later and think, oh, so thatís what he meant or he wanted.
He looks at me sometimes and though I am not mother but wife,
I can tell it matters if I say he did wrong or I think he did right.
He plays loose with his kids and they make disagreeable
Noises and laughter and jokes and delight at unsettling my table.
Half the time I must admit finally I give manners the heave ho shun.
It is so much more productive and happy to simply join the fun.
I know he knows better and so do his sons so there is no harm
Allowing the joy and jesting and bonding while I feign alarm.
He has his lazy moments but they are few and far between.
He is the most compassionate, devoted man I have ever seen.
He dreams a dream and plans a plan and then he has begun
Like a child who has never had the thought it canít be done.
He has inspired me to listen to the child in me who can do
Rather than sit and act old and finished and think that I am through.
Like most boys heíd rather spend his money on a toy than a bill
Yet, a man I can trust and count on, I donít doubt his grown-up will.
Sometimes Iíd like to pull my hair out at how stubborn he can be,
And to make a big decision, first come the grave, more like than he.
He makes me laugh even at times I thought I needed most to cry
This is the man and the forty nine and a half year old boy I love and why.