wait for me
after “Wait For Me, Daddy," by Claude P. Dettloff, New Westminster, British Columbia, October 1, 1940
Take my hand What can a small boy know of marching, ocean crossings, long, lonely nights in a foreign land . . . what of the call to duty, orders to engage and the ensuing battleground conflagrations? That is, what can he really know of who his father has become and who he will be in the days-months-years ahead? All he sees now, from the sidewalk sidelines, as he waits anxiously with his mother, is the endless stream: men, their green khakis, service caps, rifles, the way they stride in unison marching off on a great adventure what he too desperately wants: to be among them, alongside, experiencing again what he does know so well: the feeling that comes with bedtime stories, bounces upon knees backyard airplane rides, games of catch and whenever on a crowded downtown street he runs up to his father, his daddy, who reaches out and says, always with such love: come along, son take my hand.
This poem, touching my heart ❤️
Thank you! This actually choked me up and brought back memories I didn't realize I still had. Powerful.