(written May 2008)
Such a patient man:
Spending so much time
with me as an infant,
Relieving my mother in
the evenings when you would come home from a long day at work.
“Does the baby want
some cool water?” You would ask.
“Cool water, nice
cool water.” I would answer.
Such an intelligent
man:
Your avid reading and
reciting poetry,
created an environment
for my craving of books at a very young age.
And so you read to me.
“Read book, read
book.” I would say.
You’d smile, tuck me
in my bed and read to me,
your velvety voice
lulling me to sleep.
Ahhh, the many memories
that were made on Riverside Drive are countless.
But I can reach out and
touch many of them,
because they are so
vivid and real to me, even now.
The running, the bike
riding, the swings, the sandbox, the roller skates, the scrapes,
the car washing, and
then,
just the simple walk.
The slow, simple,
meaningful walk down Riverside Drive with you,
as you near
three-quarters of a century old,
was priceless.
As we took that walk on
that beautiful spring day,
you started to
reminisce about the fun times that you had as a youth on Riverside
Drive.
Your descriptions were
so incisive, I felt like I was right there with you, during that
time.
But, time has caught up
with you and you have not had an easy road to walk.
Your resilience amazes
everyone.
You still paint, you
still read and recite poetry.
You still laugh, you
still smile, you still encourage and admonish,
and you,
still walk down
Riverside Drive.
I never could have
known,
the significance, that
one, simple walk,
on a street, where I
have probably walked in my same footsteps,
more than a million
times, would have on me.
Thank you dad, for that slow, simple walk down Riverside Drive.
Rain - Bobby Caldwell
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