We always called him Daddy,
Not "Dad" or "Father,"
He wouldn’t have answered
If we had.
Daddy loved.

One of ten, sold papers at 6,
One of the big boys,
A tiny tow-head,
Second oldest to a sister
And Daddy loved.

He could sing like Caruso,
But never did do so,
PreferredMy Wild Irish Rose
Or happy little things.
And Daddy loved.

I met him daily at the street car,
Asked him "Where’s the bacon?"
Cause he always left in the morning
Saying "I have to bring home the bacon"
And he did - and he loved.

He held my tiny hands
He patted my hair,
And he let me know loudly when
My dates he didn’t like.
All in his love.

My baby sister rode on his shoulder,
To the coffee shop early mornings.
He loved coffee pie
And ham sandwiches
And Daddy loved me.

He supported the down and outers
During the depression,
Saving their dignity
With dinner invitations.
Daddy loved all people.

He wore a shirt and tie to work every day.
And the same brown suit.
For so many years
Daddy loved fixing machines.
And he just loved.

I’ll tell you a secret if
You won’t tell another,
He changed that suit when he got to work,
To a blue collared uniform
Daddy was proud, and he loved.

My nickname was Sargent, because
I reported everything at day’s end.
Poor mother couldn’t have an affair,
I told him all at the street car.
When I ran to meet my Daddy.

Daddy loved!



© By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)


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