John Paul Trexler R.I.P.

I've been writing a book of poetry lately. I started it on the first day of summer and will finish it on the last day of summer. It's called, quite originally, I might add, ALL SUMMER LONG. For the most part, it's been about the lost Lenore of my life, my soon-to-be ex-wife Jen, but tomorrow is my dad's birthday. He died in 1989 at the ripe old age of 50. I wrote him this poem tonight. I hope you enjoy it.

Roger



FATHERHOOD

Used to think
My father hated me
I knew he hung his head
In shame
At times
He didn’t understand
That I was cut
From a different cloth
Than he
Still a man
But different
I had a different destiny
Than him
No grander
Nor less
A man
Than anyone else
Equal
No better than his humble
Beginnings

I remember the day
I got the call
My brother
Crying
Dad was gone
I drove over and
Saw
The indignity
Death had brought him
Alone
Dead
Face down
Buttermilk still on his lips

I remember thinking
We would never have
A peace
Between us
—but, I was wrong
we have peace now
I look into my son’s eyes
And see
Me
Or a shadow
Of who I used to be
In his smile
In his ways
And I know
I know
I see it so clearly now
Now that the fog
Has lifted from my heart
Fatherhood
Knows no shame
Only love
Regardless of machismo
Regardless of circumstance
Unconditional
And complete

And he only hung his head
In shame
Because he felt ashamed
Of who he was
A poor country boy
With enough pride
To fill a river
And not shame for me
Regardless of what I thought when I was young

And, now, I know,
He should never have been ashamed
Of who he was,
A good man,
Brought up under difficult circumstances
Hardened by life
And the lessons
He had learned from it
Toughest man I ever knew
And the most tender
And the most human
—He was my father.