My dad is 81 today. We will gather tonight to blow out a whack of candles.
There is little Dad likes more than seeing all of us around the table which continues, miraculously, to stretch. He might try to fool the youngest grandchild ( #11 is how she would be introduced) by sneaking her cookie with a young boy’s grin. He might tell us proudly of his newest muffin recipe. Baking is his newest hobby. He will likely do that trick we have come to know as Ask Granddad because who needs Google when asked a date, any date, any period, any century. He will devour Mom’s famous birthday cake and ask for a slice of both, if she has made a second variety. He loves a party anytime, but especially his own birthday.
Happy Birthday to my girl Dad, my best Dad, my brilliant Dad, my moral Dad. You taught me to honour truth and delight in knowledge.
You are wisdom to me.
His brain bulges daily.
An overload would surprise no one,
seeping onto the sidewalk
scrambling out of the way.
His books extends from every appendage,
chambers shuffling in syncopation.
unfold at page one.
Peer at his scull close enough
and see a map of the world.
Copyright © Anne Langford
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