Today would have been my father's 63rd birthday. We would have exchanged old jokes, work and weather anecdotes, and would have planned on talking in a couple of days, on my birthday.

The world lost him to cancer two months ago, and the pain still feels like it was yesterday. I want to call and hear his laugh and voice, to hear how his day went, and to view the world through his eyes just once more.

We didn't see each other a lot over the past years, but the times we were together were important and meaningful. A few years ago, Robyn and I went to Sioux City and spend the weekend. Dad and I ended up huddled around his computer, listening to music. We were listening to the Woodstock recording, and he told me that he always wished he could have been there. He said that it was the definitive moment of his generation, but responsibility kept him from going. It was a candid confession, something that my dad never really did.

A few years later, I was taking classes online, and one of the assignments was called a pastiche poem. We were given the poem "My Father's Love Letters" by Yusef Komunyakaa, and were told to follow the pattern and line breaks and create our own poem. I wrote mine on that one clear moment where I felt closest to my dad.

“I should have been there”, he said once,

cigarette smoke isolating us from everything.

“Woodstock was the calling of my generation, a perfect display

of love and peace and understanding.”

“Why didn’t you go?” I asked.

A shrug and a frown.

Silence, as he remembers why.

Family duty rang. He answered instantly.

Brothers and sister to help, a mother struggled,

Money needed, he worked hard.

One by one, dreams given up

As jobs came and went.

Mops and brooms, aprons and spatulas.

All remains of dreams he sacrificed at

The altar of duty.

Age crept in, as did life.

Dreams fading, disappearing in

Life’s rearview mirror.

Years pass, along comes a son.

Working long hours, sunup to sundown,

In son’s heart . . .

Each time with father, like Christmas.

A special moment shared.

Lessons slowly learned,

Watching his father toil away tiredly.

the son grew, shoulders unbowed,

He carried the ethics, mirrored his idol.

“Never let the world break

you no matter what happens, stand true.”

His father showed, never said.

Always do your best, no

matter what anyone says about

You. Never regret your choices, son,

And always chase your dreams. To

Be like you is my goal.

To stand, unbent, by the world’s weight.

While I will never be able to call him and talk to him, to hear his jokes and his stories, I will always remember my father this way. He did what he had to do, because that's what one does. The way he lived his life has inspired me to live my dream. He will always be one of my biggest inspirations, and my hero. 

I love you, dad.