My Daddy went home...and I cried like a baby...no worse, I cried like a grown woman who felt like an eight year old, saying good-bye to her papa and crying like a baby...
My ole' man still has an eye for the motorcycles and pretty ladies. He still thinks the sound of a woman walking in high heels, is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. He still loves shiny red automobiles and motorcycles and dreams of riding across country, with a horizon spreading wide before him and wind making music along the way. He dreams of flying and of the sea.
And although he no longer moves with the strapping assurance of my younger papa leaping over broomstick/jump ropes with startling agility, nor lifts me high onto broad shoulders, he is and will always be a giant to me.
His slightly too large, decidedly crooked, false teeth affect a visage that resembles my dad but not exactly. His wit and dunder headed wisdom, relayed through humorous anecdotes peppered with seasoned sailor talk, never fail to make me smile and open my eyes. 
And when he looks at me with those twinkling blue eyes and calls me bird, I feel the rush of wind on long buried wings and I know with a blinding certainty that I can fly, no that I will soar.
My ole' man still has an eye for the motorcycles and pretty ladies. He still thinks the sound of a woman walking in high heels, is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. He still loves shiny red automobiles and motorcycles and dreams of riding across country, with a horizon spreading wide before him and wind making music along the way. He dreams of flying and of the sea.
And although he no longer moves with the strapping assurance of my younger papa leaping over broomstick/jump ropes with startling agility, nor lifts me high onto broad shoulders, he is and will always be a giant to me.
His slightly too large, decidedly crooked, false teeth affect a visage that resembles my dad but not exactly. His wit and dunder headed wisdom, relayed through humorous anecdotes peppered with seasoned sailor talk, never fail to make me smile and open my eyes. 
And when he looks at me with those twinkling blue eyes and calls me bird, I feel the rush of wind on long buried wings and I know with a blinding certainty that I can fly, no that I will soar.
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