Fathering Trust

 

The gift of trust .
How rare.
How precious.
How precarious.

From the cradle
To the nursing home,
We strive to believe,
Hoping risks valid,
Disappointments mere lessons,
Measured doubt a badge of courage,
Even as we learn
Little can be embraced as truth.

For most

Somewhere along the way,
The trusting child
Becomes a questioning adult,
Tiered with experience,
Learned patience,
Tenacity to succeed,
Yet painfully vigilant
With such responsibility.

Some move into parenting,
Sometimes short the necessary dues paid.

With fathers
Certain hardwired elements of conscience
Drives duty into a labyrinth of guilt,
As all they wish to fulfill
Falls short,
No fault of their own.

At such times,
All that might be left
Is the trust of a child,
Of a mate.

Yes,
Even the family dog’s tail-wag
Patiently waiting for scraps.

For fathers who persevere,
For families who recognize
Earned returns require patience,
Credence is often the only security they have.

For solvency is not about one's bank account,
It is about earned trust,
Learned from the cradle,
Challenged indefinitely,
Misunderstood at times,
Too often dashed upon the rocks of old age,
Never having been appreciated.

Like mothers,
Fathers usually try their best.
For when all is truly said and done,
Such effort for our behalf asks only of trust,
The single most precious gem
Anyone can take to the other side.

To my trusted teacher of so much,
Happy Father's Day Pop.

You are missed