Smell assaults my whole,
Flung back into the past to a time long ago,
When I would sit at my father’s feet atthree am.
You see my father was an early riser
And always you could catch him
With coffee in the morning.
So I would wake in the morning as the kitchen stirred
With the noise of the morning to come.
I would stalk the house so as not to wake those that still slumbered.
In the kitchen I would see my father sitting, head hung low from the tiredness
But as I walked in he would lift that head and smile.
He would have his heavy hand wrapped around his cup and every so often he
Would take a small sip.
I would come to him then and sit at his feet.
I would dream the dreams of children.
He would smile down at me and place his warm hand upon my head
And whisper, I love you son.
I would look up into the face of my hero and whisper back,
I love you too Father.
My mother would wake shortly after.
She would pour her own cup of coffee and sit with us for a moment.
My sister sleeps still and we are quiet so as not to wake her.
My mother and father would make lunches for the day
And afterwards we would all get ready,
My father for work and I for the day of children’s dreams.
The time would come when my father would leave.
I would cry and cry at the thought of losing him for the day.
He would kneel down and rub his callused hands through my hair.
He pulled me close and hugged me then while softly saying,
I’ll be home soon. You’re the man of the house now. I love you.
I would fight away and scream then through teary eyes.
I screeched in a terse whisper, Don’t go! I ‘m not strong enough to be the man of the house!
He would just look me in the eye and say, you are strong enough because you are my son.
I would wipe my eyes and look deeply into his, I am strong enough because I love you.
