"Are You Listening?"

Hey Dad, remember when I was one? There were two before and two still to come. You whispered. "You're special, are you listening?" Uhuh DaDa.



Then when I was four, I'd climb on your lap and play with your moustache, while you'd tell me a story, and say "Everyone and everything has it's own story. Are you listening?" Let's plaaaaay Daddy.



When I was eight, you took me to the Daily News office and the basement cafe. It was the first time I had French Toast. You bought me Red Leather sandles. Special Day? "No, Special You. Are you listening?" Yes Daddy, Thank You Daddy.



When I was ten, you shaved your moustache, I cried for two days, You dried the tears. "A moustache, does not make the man. Are you listening?" Okay Dad. But you don't look like Dad.



At thirteen, Clumsy, shy. I. I. I... Why can't I do anything right. Will I ever grow up? "Sure Honey, soon. But, you'll always be Daddy's Little Girl. Are you listening?" Yep! Soon Dad? "Yes, Honey, soon.



At fifteen, you began to fade, as other guys came my way. But I could still hear you say. "Go slow, there"s no hurry. Are you listening?" HuH, Oh sure Daddy-O.



At twenty-five, three kids and I. A marriage gone sour, I thought i"d die. "You'll work it out. You'll be okay. Your Mother and I are here. Are you listening?' What Dad? Did you say something?



At thirty, me and three. Free. I can breathe. Me. Me. Me. Alive! "Good for you Dear. Go easy. Enjoy! Are you listening?' Sure Dad.



Then thirty-five. This Guy is great! Kind. Loves the kids and me. "He's a real find, You deserve him. Are you listening?" You bet, I've learned a lot Dad.



Ten years another child. We talked nearly every day. Some say we argued. They don't know the bond. They do not know of Cabbages and Kings, the Trojan Horse, Rasputin, butterflies to boomerangs. We covered them all. Sometimes, Mom would leave the room tired after all the "ARE YOU LISTENING?"



24 FATHER'S DAYS have come and gone, since I could sit and talk and talk and talk. 24 years of looking at pictures you drew, reading the books you left. Thinking of the stories you wanted to write, but never did. Your love of words, your love of ideas, I guess you left to me.



When at eight, you took me to the newspaper office and we smelled the ink and the paper, and heard the sound of the presses, and you said. "Are you listening?"



Yes Dad, I was always listening. I miss you. I love you. This one's for you.



"Are you listening?'



For Dad June 16, 1994 updated.