A Note to My Father

I watch my infant son and I think of you as you would have been at his age, alone with no one to care about your curiosities.  I wonder how you maintained your sense of humor through that childhood.  But then I think of you as you sometimes were, a laughing face with vacant eyes.  My son has your laugh, but I hope he never gets your eyes.

I see myself in the mirror and I think of you as you would have been at my age, a new father with no blueprint to follow.  I wonder why you let us slip from your hands.  But then I think of you as you sometimes were, lying on the ragged couch watching me through a furrowed brow.  I imagine now that it wasn’t really me that you saw, but rather her reflection in my face.

I mostly think of you as you would have been today.  And I want for vacant eyes and furrowed brow.