Wednesday, February 23, 2011

fathers and their children

In My Father's Eyes
(by Eric Clapton)
by stu pidasso

My office wall is adorned
with three separate portraits
of the same man,
whose stress on my life
is still being realized.

His father was a junior
making him "the third".
He used the Roman numeral three
as his mark quite frequently.
I see that figure often now
standing resolute in my mind.
Those three pillars,
upright and strong,
are my symbol of how he was
and how I wish to be.

Wisdom comes with age.
Age comes with time.
Time is what we wish we had used better
once we are older and wiser.

I get my advice from him these days,
by reflecting upon his life,
savoring every juicy bit
of example he did provide
by living a life I can
now appreciate and respect.

I just wish I had taken the time
to let his words linger in my ears,
to notice the work he produced
with his able hands and body,
to ask about the origins
of his convictions.

I wish I could look
in my father's eyes
and tell him how much
I respect and miss him now.

And, I hope that my son
does not let pass
the same chances
to talk to me.


  1. You are so right. No matter how much you talk there is always something when they have gone you desperately need to ask. My father and I talked a lot about his life as an adult but there was another life when he was small that he never talked about.

    Great writing and advice.

  2. Sheilagh lee said:A beautiful tribute to your father and something we all think about,

  3. This one was reflective and moving, written beautifully. Like Sheilagh said, it is something we all think about.

  4. This work affected me deeply. I have three sons. We talk a lot. One I have influenced musically; one from the sports side of things, and one has based himself wholely on my teachings. When I am gone I expect they will all have things they wished they had said.

  5. Wonderful tribute to 'fathers and sons'..very powerful words..and the photo was a great compliment to your words..Jae

  6. funny how that is the way it is... the echoes and shadows of those that went before us still linger under our skin flowing in our blood...