From
father’s facial expressions and
manner
of speaking,
my
brothers and I learned.
From
the way he shaved and combed
his
hair,
to
the perfect Windsor knot he tied,
we
learned.
From
his promises to our mother for
a
better life which he
struggled
and failed to achieve,
from
the paper airplanes he made us
to
fly on weekends,
we
learned.
From
the way he lit his cigarette and
the
smoke rings hew blew
to
the crushing of expended butts
into
the ashtray,
my
brothers and I paid attention
and
we learned.
From
the holding of a hammer,
the
pounding nails
to
the accidental smashing of his thumb,
to
the yelling of curse words
we
heard,
my
brothers and I learned.
From
the toothy smiles,
the
glad-handing and thank yous he gave
to
the impatient rage
for
our disobedience he gave,
we
learned.
From
the way he hung his head
devoutly
in church to pray
to
the disappointed scowl
frozen
to his face
he
wore up until his last days,
oh,
how we learned.
When
distressed or perturbed,
Mother
used to tell my
brothers
and me individually,
that
we three boys were
just
like our father.
We
have always done so well what
we
were taught to do.
How
could it have been otherwise?
We
learned.
Chris
Hanch 5-7-17
