Daddy, Do You Cry?

A very long time ago when my daughter was in about third grade, we were eating breakfast before school and she asked me, "Daddy, do you cry". I just responded by saying yes, of course I cry. I also used to travel a lot for my job and so I was usually gone about one week every month. I was in Rye, New York on a photoshoot when I called home one evening like I did every evening when I travelled. When it was my daughters turn to talk she told me with such excitement about a boy in her class that she liked and was able to sit next to on the bus during a field trip. I felt so bad that I wasn't at home while she was telling me so that I could see the joy and excitement on her face. I hung up the phone that night and wrote this poem with blurry eyes. I couldn't wait till my trip was over to share it with her so I called her back later than night, read her the poem, and we both cried a few tears. Fast forward about eight years and my little girl isn't my little girl anymore. She mostly keeps her thoughts to herself now, especially when it comes to her personal life. Oh well, I still have our poem.

Daddy, Do You Cry?

It was a weekday morning, music in the air
Son was in the bathroom, combing his hair
My head was in the paper, while eating cornflakes
Daughter sat beside me, picking her breakfast, while staring into space

Daddy, she says in her soft quiet voice
Daddy, she says as she looks up from her bowl
Daddy, do you every cry?
Daddy, why don't you cry?

Sweet child of mine with the curious mind
Try to understand, understand if you can
Sorrow is a feeling that you don't usually see
I keep it hidden, deep within me

Happiness is present and seen most every day
But even my most joyful thoughts
Are rarely on display
Do I cry? Dear, yes I do
I cry the most, when I'm thinking of you

My first tear falls before you wake
Sunlight dancing, across your sweet face
I ask the golden glow that caresses your cheek
Become your suit of armor, as you sleep
With each new day I see you grow
Joy and sorrow the moisture hold
Each day I wake you from your sleep
Another tear for you I weep

Sorrow and Joy are not far apart
For tears don't know the difference
When they fall or why they start
The heart knows the reason for each tear upon my cheek
I cherish the knowledge for which my heart speaks

You share with me excitement
About a boy in your class
A special friend, that makes your heart, beat "pitter-pat"
He sat beside you on the bus one spring day
A moment of your life, and mine I pray

I see you standing so proud upon the stage
Eyes scan the audience, you find strength to play
You firmly tuck your violin beneath your chin
Managing to smile, your fingers begin
Small fingers dance magic upon the strings
Bow massages the strings, the violin sings

The tears well up in my eyes each day
As I relive the moments from each passing day
You hold a special place in my heart
And that is where all the tears start

So when you asked me such a curious question
Daddy, do you cry?
My answer is now here on display
If you do not see a tear fall from my face
Rest assured, the right time, the right place
Your daddy does cry
Many tears fill your space.

Dear Dad

It has been four years since my father unexpectedly passed away. Even though I have certainly moved on, not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of him, think about him, or speak to him. I was fortunate to write this poem a few years before he passed away. It was a Christmas present to my father. A moment I will cherish forever. More than a few tears were shed that day. This weeks blog is dedicated to my father on the fourth anniversary of his passing.








Dear Dad
by william zuback

I.

The first thing I remember
Maybe I was four
Father running by my side
Strong hands to hold
Guided by a gentle push
I gain my independence
Comforted by the rhythmic steps
Pedals turning heart still churning
Both gasping for our breath

Turning around
Dad Still there
I knew I'd never stand alone

II.

Around the age of nine or ten
Dad took on the task
Helping to build a special car
To race among the best
Made of pine and looking fine
The car sped down the track
Encouraging the car
To pick up speed
And place above the rest
But on this special race day
It did not meet the challenge
The pine car did not place
One, two, or three
Pride was the trophy
I took home from the race
Pride of a father
Who made me feel like a winner
That night

Turning around
Dad Still there
I knew I'd never stand alone

III.

Sun rises on the horizon
Of my early teenage years
Finds father and son together
Spectators of dawns first light
The headlines delivered each and every day
One by choice and one by need
We'd meet in the middle to share the seam
Every morning like a clock
Mother nature woke us up
Few spoken words at the crack of dawn
Early morning meditation the conversation
Brings us together to share the news

Turning around
Dad Still there
I knew I'd never stand alone

IV.

Young adult and full of spite
Space was given but still we'd fight
I followed a path of my own invention
Mostly wrong but sometimes right
You respected my space
With a humble grace
And let me stumble but never fall
A thousand miles of open road
Eighteen hours sharing another seam
One by choice and one by need
No lecture or advice tonight

Turning around
Dad Still there
I knew I'd never stand alone

V.

Now a father I am proud
To use the wisdom handed down
I'm reminded of you every day
And for that I love you - Dad
More and more each day

Father is the tripod
Foundation of the image
The image grows each passing year
From wisdoms past
Guided by a gentle push
I gain my independence

Turning around
Dad Still there
I know I'll never stand alone!