The day I was born he bought a corsage,
a snow-white gardenia, beribboned and fair.
I'm told he was hoping for a son,
but he bought a corsage for me to wear.
He would waltz as I stood upon his shoes
and hold me safe while we circled the room.
As we swirled in sync, his smile let me know -
I was the note that completed his tune.
He'd buy me my favorite banana split -
we'd sit side-by-side on the counter stools.
With no care I'd eaten no dinner first -
for me he was willing to break the rules.
Bigger was always better for him,
and yes, on occasion he tried too hard -
but each birthday my face would light up
when I saw the extravagance of his card.
At times when he passed my report card around,
I desperately wished for a place to hide -
but even in my embarrassment,
I secretly basked in my father's pride.
When I need to find my confidence -
in times I've forgotten my own self worth,
I only need remember my dad
and the flowers he gave me the day of my birth.
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Author Notes
I was born to my 42 year old parents many years after their other daughters, my father's last chance for a son. I never knew how much he wanted a son till I was grown and told this by my sisters, for my father never once made me think I was anything other than the answer to his prayers.
The vignettes are pretty much self-explanatory. The banana splits were a Friday night treat at Howard Johnson's - I was allowed to order one without dinner first since I could never eat both. The cards he bought at the Hallmark store - always off the highest shelf where the biggest cards were sold for the mighty price of a dollar!
When I read some of the poems on FS from people whose parents abused or neglected them, my heart shatters, for I know so much of the belief I have in myself and the strength that has carried me through life stem directly from the value my father placed in me.
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