cat’s in the cradle

i’m sure you wouldn’t like how i don’t eat steak or bacon. i’m sure you wouldn’t love how i think nicki minaj is a bad ass. i’m fairly certain that you wouldn’t appreciate how much i tweet or how dirty my mouth is or how bad my grade point average was for my freshman year. i know that you would be bummed that i didn’t excel as much as my brother or how i’m not as socially normal as my sister. i know you wouldn’t be thrilled that i don’t know how to manage any of my finances or save money or invest. i know you would think it’s a shame that i never stuck to a sport or a project or a major goal or follow through with much of anything. i know you would be frustrated by my dysfunctional eating and my mood swings and my unpredictable passions that quickly turn to milestones of hatred. i know that you would not like how much i dwell on things and how often i cry about things i cannot change. but i know you would understand me. i know you would support me and metaphorically hold me up on your burly shoulders just like you physically used to when i was just a “little pumpkin.” i know you would dry the tears without even trying and hug me and say to me everything that i needed to hear from you. i know you would smirk (never laugh, except maybe a very discreet chuckle) at my dry humor that undeviatingly mimics your humor. i am certain that you would have written songs with me. i would play guitar and you would help me scribble thoughts into verses and choruses and i know that i would have those songs stuck in my head all day. i’m sure you would still cook steak and burgers and i would sit outside and watch the coals burn and we would listen to reo speedwagon and the doobie brothers together and then we would lay out in the sun together and i would talk to you about the patriots and i probably would be better at chemistry and biology these days if you were still around and i don’t even know where i’m going with this post but i miss you so much, dad. as i type this, there are knots in my stomach and there are familiar tears in my eyes and there is a huge lump in my throat and anger that shoots through my fingertips because it’s not fair and it is never going to change and it never gets easier and your birthday was a couple of days ago and i missed it. every year since the year you passed away, i celebrated for you. i celebrated the life that ceased to continue on paper and tax documents and insurance bills and christmas cards and birthday gifts because i didn’t want you to be obsolete. and i still don’t want you to be obsolete but i missed it this year. so now,  i’m sitting here in my apartment and it’s six days after your birthday but i’m celebrating for you with my favorite playlist and i’m going to buy tickets to a patriots game and i’m going to go to that place again this year and i’ll hang out with your sister and your niece and nephew and your mother whose name you made my middle name and they will break out the “home videos” again and i’ll watch the one where i am just standing on your back and jumping up and down and your just laying on the ground smiling and talking to me and i can’t wait to feel your presence through a simple video again because although it’s cold and bitter in boston that time of year, it’s far colder forgetting what your voice sounded like.

from the ground on earth to whichever cloud in heaven you’re sipping a brewski with jesus on, i hope this message gets to you; i love you so much and can’t wait to see you again. happy birthday.


and the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon. when you comin’ home, dad? i don’t know when., but we’ll get together then. you know we’ll have a good time then.


say it to my face, dude. (enter your comment below, i love all forms of feedback)

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