Fishing with my Elevenated Longhaired Boy
running my fingers through his hair
looking for nats, bats, hats, rats, cats, photo mats
could lead to grandchildren or sinster FBI footwear

“all the energy you need to annoy everyone else”
I read imprinted on the can and then
he drinks his Spaz Juice and proceeds
to make us squirm by whistling the theme to Daisy
sour cream over and over and over again

eleven is an awkward age
an age of change and for him
missing teeth [a full nine of them] and braces
and a growing interest in the softer sex
with an intellect that most adults would envy makes him so..

..complex

I love him and he drives me crazy and he makes me proud and angry
I want sometimes to hit and hug him concurrently and then
he’ll make me laugh and startle me with a profundity
and I will gape in jaw-dropped awe and wonder
at the workings of his mind, the potential that is locked within
his cracking adolescent shell

he sits and “reads” a Maxim while the barber cuts my hair
and it’s hard at times to see his eyes
I call him “Shag Doggy Dog” and laugh as he throws a smirk my way
but in a world of madness and uniform dress codes his hair
is something he can control and after all I was
just like him once

but not as smart

so I leave a little slack in the line
the barber keeps his scissors sheathed and his library open
and I keep him on the hook and let him run
fishing for his future is a delicate business and I for one
do not want to find myself telling true tales someday
about the great one

that got away


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[wow]
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as i read this i half expected to see norman rockwell's name signed to it
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:)
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I know what you are saying, "s.t." I have three Grandsons and I find them constantly amazing.
...BR
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eloquent expression of a beautiful sentiment