My Sons

My Sons


First meeting with my son was nerve wracking.
I was seated in the delivery room
on a metal stool. A mirror allowed
me to view the miracle of birth.

Roger came out screaming and indignant
at being evicted from a warm womb.
The next insult was all the suctioning,
wiping, weighing, measuring and wrapping.

His mother seemed to take this all in stride,
while I was a babbling, nervous wreck.
I was handed a blanketed bundle
and was expected to know what to do.

I looked into his eyes and could see that
he expected me to take care of him.
This was a grave responsibility --
the greatest that I have undertaken.

Roger has an older brother named Rik.
We asked seven-year-old Rik about names.
He replied, "Roger would be a good name
because it has two "R's." Who could argue?

My two sons are my greatest achievements.
I shared their first steps taken, their first words.
We went camping together, fished, played catch.
I taught them how to play guitar and to paint.

My greatest pleasure has been attending
my sons' baseball, hockey and football games.
Win or lose they tried their best. What more can
a proud parent ask for? They are my trophies.

Advice, I've given some, but then again
not much was taken. They thought they knew all.
They were usually right. They made mistakes,
they learned, and made me proud beyond measure.

From their mother they gained intelligence;
early on they learned to use it wisely.
From me they learned about music and art,
two of the lowest paying professions.

From me Rik learned about falling from trees
and walking fences after partying.
Roger was more cautious than his brother.
From me he learned mischief like breaking trees.

He still claims his innocence on that one.
We're waiting for DNA evidence
to finally clear his reputation,
so trees everywhere may feel safe at last.

I am proud of what my sons have now become --
independent, resourceful, confident.
My input was, I hope, beneficial.
I marvel at what the world holds for them.