My Santiago

No fault, no blame

Sitting here at my desk, On a balmy autumnal afternoon in April, I glance up at photographs of him,

Of myself with him, In a moment of jest, Grabbing his ear; And he – all smiles!

But I have a question now; “Did I know him?” “Did I spend quiet moments with him?” Moments in that silence borne out of deepest intimacy,

Where words are not required? Did I ever call him up and say, “Let’s go out for coffee, Dad, Just you and I?”

Did I walk with him? Go to the movies? Do the things that a father does with a son? Perhaps in that time, Fathers never did that, And sons, well, sons rebelled! But all I know – and memories can be wrong - Is that we never shared that intimacy!

There was friendship, Grudging respect, Even admiration!

But alas – too few times – Did I tell him I loved him! Too few times did we stretch out hands And step away from others, And be father and son.

I regret that!

I never had the father I wanted. No fault, no blame, Just the way it was!