Lo-Fi Sci-Fi

Bad Knees & Good Bridges

I read a story by

a faith-wrestler

and wonder-seeker,

a justice-dreamer

and householder;

a father trying

to tell the truth

with love and a bit of fire,

who sometimes questions his

parenting skills and worth

but who shared

a simple story of an outing

with his son, whose smile

his dad lived to inspire.

Time and again, as he told the story,

it didn't matter what any score was

or who was at the event mic or even

the discomfort of dad's own replaced

and recovering knee, Dad’s attention

returned, again and again, to his

seventeen year-old son's

“perfect grin that he’s had since

forever and only comes out

at certain times.”

It was an hour later, as I smiled

at the perfect notary stamp sealed

on the affidavit that would

accompany my own dad's death

certificate, that the reason the man's

story seemed so foreign dawned on

me: this father's son was his point,

not himself. This dad's reason,

purpose, pride and joy was his son,

not his own ego protection or fragile

masculinity support system.

This dad seemed to find the deepest

satisfaction in creating happiness

and wholeness in his son, rather than

using his son to prove himself a man.

Exactly like science fiction to me.

Spock, Data, Uhura, Sulu,

beam me broken

to the bridge where I can see,

even from afar,

and come running to

this better view,

this good news of

sons who trust, fathers

who aren't prodigal,

right here on earth,

not another star.

-pdk

*for GA