THE WISE THAT ARE YOUNG AT HEART

It’s difficult for me to accept my  father as a mortal.

I worshipped the man they called the village son.

He was the hero I wrote about in kindergarten.

I refused to listen to any other.

 

He turns 80 in a couple of months, and he wants to go out with a bang.

He dreams of a big project…a project with his name on it.

Apparently, they will know his name.

How do I tell him no one cares? His wave is done.

 

But conversations about family truth are an art in itself.

Who goes first? Who listens? Who nods and feigns understanding.

 

We’ve always been by his side. Always been his number one fans. Always bought the tickets to his show.

But like a gladiator, his fuel is mass adoration.

We are the faithful few…hidden in shadows imprisoned by loyalty.

 

All around me, family is changing…evolving.

Time is the catalyst.

Swim to shore daddy…the crowd has moved on.

Reality is blatant like that.

 

I met a girl. She knows me. I love her. My future is clear.

Where does that leave me and him?

Why is his blessing still so fucking important?

Ego is sensitive. Courage is my protection. I need my north star.

 

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