Me and my Dad

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It starts out with a snuffle – a voice he's never heard before,

And suddenly, he's a Father and there's a whole new world in store.

The time goes by, he's changed a thousand diapers, maybe more,

His hair's grown grey along the sides, his back is bent and sore,

He knows feeding, changing – is expert on most everything that's sold,

Imagine how much more he'll know when his child is two days old . . .

The years fly past, his baby's reached the great old age of three,

That wondrous time when head and hands reach just above the knee,

The scars have healed from babe's first tooth, the child can even talk,

The tiny hard hat's put away – his little one can walk.

The child is toilet-trained, survived each illness, scratch and sore,

Dad knows it all, good thing because his wife just had two more.

His babes grow tall - or he grows small – there's a definite shift in size,

He's not as smart as he once was, through his adolescent's eyes.

He's older now and he can see both sides of any fight,

But it matters not 'cause like his child, he knows that he is right.

And as he watches, painfully, the sometimes good and bad,

There's one thing that will never change - the fact that he's their dad.

And so it goes, he does his best, survives on little sleep,

He goes to work each day, comes home and tends his growing sheep.

There is little recognition for the work he does each day,

A baby hug, a chocolate kiss may be his only pay.

But he strangles his impatience as he watches tiny hands,

And he gently speaks when teenage heads just do not understand

His prods and pushes – anger, too, he tempers, 'cause he cares,

His one reward, his children's love, he treasures through the years.