in Celebration of Fathers

The man that saw me as a child and the child that saw me as a man

Can I tell you how hard I fought to grow up?

No matter what I did I still was the child

You were proud all my life when I did the grownup things

How delighted you were when I began to talk

How you beamed when I began to crawl and walk

Beginning school and even jobs eventually

Even as I grew into all the things men do

Part of me remained a child

That part that ever lived in the back of your eyes

There was a part of me that never left those days

When seeing the pride in your eyes was everything

Others could certify and recognize my accomplishments

The established authority could give me frame-able evidence

Still it paled in relationship to the feeling I got

When the child in my heart burst into your room

Excitedly carrying the proof of my accomplishment

To show it to you and to see once more

The child that still lived in the back of your eyes

I could see him, you know

He would awaken from some light slumber

He would come close to the side of your eyes

And as he heard you go on about whatever prize I had brought

He would begin to glow faintly

As you would scrutinize the evidence

As he read with you every word

Every whereas and hitherto

He would come to a sparkle

Barely noticeable to those gathered around

But the child half that resided within me

Saw the brother that still resided within you

And for that moment

I lived as a boy that still needed his father’s approval

For all our relationship may have become

This part of it seemed ordained to remain

The child that lived within me always needed to be in touch

With that child that lived still in the back of your eyes

That symbiosis sustaining both

Each carrying to and carrying from

Both the child I thought I would always be

And the child you thought you would always see

Then one day

Quite unexpectedly

You went away

The adult I had turned into knew the day would come

Even unexpectedly, my heart had tried to prepare me

I had filled my life with relationships designed to replace

I had established other ports to share my goods

They offered the heartfelt pat on the back

They brought the warmth of societal recognition to bear

They stood ready to replace

That one place that could never be replaced

For all their warmth and genuineness

They did not have the child I would always be

Living deep within the back of their eyes

No matter how often the child inside came to see

There was no child other half looking back at me

Dad, I miss so many things about our relationship

Others have stepped up to try to fill

No one does so in any attempt to take your place

They do so merely to fill your empty space

None of these, however, can fill this space

It has come to me finally some fifty plus years past my birth

That the child I recognized so intently in your eyes

The child that called out so earnestly to the child in mine

Was there before I was even born

He was in part, part of the joy you had for me as your son

And part of the child that lived in your eyes

That always looked for the child in his father’s eyes

I thought the child living in the back of my eyes would die

When you left so abruptly that day in March

I knew he would languish and pass without his symbiotic partner

But I have found, and none too soon

He lives just fine

He sparkles and shines

And exchanges his knowing glances

With the children that still live in the eyes of mine

My sons and daughters still seek him

Even if they do not know it

There is a child still living behind their adult eyes

And that child still bursts into dad’s room

Bearing the authentication of their accomplishments

They bring the frame-able evidence into the court

They know they are fulfilling the role of adult

But there is a child living deep inside

That comes to find the child living deep inside

And they sparkle and shine

As the children that never die

Behind the sparkles in dad’s eyes

I cannot see the child that lived in your eyes anymore

I will miss him ever

But his work and legacy go on

He has taught me to ever see

The children living deep inside

Hiding playfully behind

The adult in my children’s eyes

Ron Simpson, Jr.

March 27, 2009

in Celebration of Fathers

A Hero

As a growing boy

I had several heroes

Some wore capes

Some flew through the air

Some had webs

While others had glowing repulsor beams

My childhood heroes

Came in various sizes, shapes, and colors

They had special powers

With super secret identities

They had super foes

To provide spectacular battles

As I grew,

My heroes changed

They became more real

And worked their special abilities

In the real world

The same real world in which I lived

They were leaders

Men and women of peace

Or champions of important causes

They battled injustices

With the powers of the mind

And the weapon of the pen

Older now

And looking across a stretch of time

That sees the changes

Wrought by a near lifetime

Of growing and changing

My heroes have become closer

The caped flying warrior of justice

Still brings the smile to my boyish heart

The champions of world issues

Still stir my being to fight the good fight

However, now I can see the heroes

That have been with me all my life

You didn’t put on a cape and fight my foes

But you did keep me safe

You didn’t fight hunger in the world arena

But you worked, everyday, and fed a family

You have always been my champion

Even when the sparkle in my eyes

Was captured by some far distant star

You are one of my heroes, Dad

Even when I didn’t know what heroes were

You were there filling those shoes

Today, you will just smile

And say you were doing what fathers do

But, I will know,

That is part of being a hero too

Thanks for all the years

Of being my unsung hero

Ron Simpson, Jr.

June 18, 2006

in Celebration of Fathers

We Followed You

When we were young

We would follow you around the house

We would go from room to room

Crawling or toddling, as children do

We didn’t know where you were going

Or where the journey would end

We simply knew

We wanted to follow you

We were scattered severally

Over a ten year span

So, while some crawled, some walked

But each of us, in our own way

Followed you

You never really acknowledged

That you knew how closely we watched

Or how hard we tried to follow

But, I am sure you knew

And you led, and we followed

Some of us, or just one of us

So bold in our teenage rebellion

Promised we would never walk your paths

We would blaze our own trails

In opposite, or perhaps, obstinate directions

Not realizing, that in doing so

We were following you

You taught us to travel

And follow our own courses

You gave us more than you ever had

You didn’t change our diapers

Or feed us our meals

While some doctor of figuring out reasons

Would have a field day with that

Still, we never doubted your love

And still, we followed you

A while back

You stepped through a door

And we could follow you no more

At least, not for long while

But, you left a trail

A pattern, if you will

A shining example

We cannot follow you as closely

As when we crawled behind your heels

We can still follow you

We can follow your example

We can follow your life

That you lived fully and openly

We can follow your words

That you shared without hesitation

We can follow your heart

That you gave without reservation

We can follow your faith

That was manifest in everything you did

You lived right

You left too soon

I hope

When my day comes

I have the same faith

I have the same course

I hope

I have followed as you followed

I hope

We have followed you

Ron Simpson, Jr.

December 22, 2007

in Celebration of Fathers

The Child I Never Saw

When I met him,

He was as old as anyone I knew,

As we walked,

He aged, and I grew;

I never knew him unknowing,

I never saw him young,

I saw that shining warrior,

Of which many songs were sung;

He held me,

He clothed me,

He fed me,

I was the child,

He could not be;

As I played hide-n-seek,

He saw what my tomorrows might be,

He worked,

And he dreamed, for me;

He held faith,

He harbored hope,

He kept the dream,

I never saw the child,

But, hand in hand,

We walked in times stream;

The man I am today,

Belongs to the child I never saw.

Thanks, Dad.

Ron Simpson, Jr.

June 21, 2001

in Celebration of Fathers

this was written two weeks before Dad passed away ..

I Believe

He has been my teacher all of my life
The lessons ranged from simple to difficult
We have talked about life
And all the things that fill it
We even talked about the end of life
And what comes beyond

I see his lessons in the actions I take
I see his hand in numerous places in my life
Sometimes when I talk, I hear him
Saying the same words in another place
And that gives me a measure of confidence
To use the words already tried and true

One of the lessons Dad spoke of
Involved one of life’s hardest realities
He talked about a time
When he would not be here
He wasn't making plans
But knew that time’s eventuality
Would catch up to even him one day

Standing here, looking at you
More helpless than I have ever seen
I remember what you would say
If you were looking over my shoulder
I can hear the words you have spoken
And I know the reality

God is more than able
He is working all things
According to his time and plan
Be not afraid, only believe
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
The evidence of things not seen

These are the words
Tried and true
These are the words
You are still saying to me
And I believe, Dad
I believe.

Ron Simpson Jr

February 22, 2007

in Celebration of Fathers

Father’s Day

It seems being a father gets more difficult every year. The responsibility and decisions keep getting bigger. It was much easier to decide between the Malibu Barbie and the Glamour Barbie. It was easier to care for them then, seeing as how they were just sleeping in the next room. If something, anything, happened in the night, I was just a cry away. I remember how hard it was watching them, as they were sick or hurting. I remember how much I wanted their aches and pains to stop. I recall how we fretted about the fevers and the scraps.

Now days, the cry in the night comes across a phone line. The hallway between our bedrooms has grown by miles. No one warned me about how tough this was going to be. When my girls were young, I could get up in the night, walk quietly into their rooms, check their fevers, pull up the covers, and steal away back into my bedroom. When they cried, we were there to wipe the tears away. When I worry these days, I just have to worry. I cannot be there to wipe away the tears now.

I thought parenting would be much easier than this. My parents made it look so easy. Being in their place now, I realize how hard it was for them. I also understand that part of it never goes away. Rightly done, parenting is forever coupled with the worry. Worry ebbs like the tide. Some days it is low tide. Some days it is high tide. Every year the decisions change. It has gone from help with homework to help picking out a good insurance company. It has changed from helping with their dolls and tea parties, to helping with the grandchildren and real dinners.

Yes, being a father has grown way beyond my original expectations. It is more difficult. It entails much longer hours than I anticipated. The choices are harder every year. When I look at my daughters, however, I cannot wait. I will worry, as I should. I will be quiet when I need be. I will be the great tower of advice. It will be much harder next year, and I can hardly wait.

Ron Simpson, Jr.

Father of Audrey, Chasity, and Heather

Fill in Father for Chris, Sierra, Chelsea, and Kyle

Father’s Day 2004

in Celebration of Fathers

In celebration of Father's Day, I will post a poem each day this week dealing with fathers .. mostly mine .. since he was my shining example ..

From The Shore

There is a lighthouse standing,

O'er the rocky breaking shore

It's light a glaring bright,

It's horn, a lion's roar;

It clings to it's foundation,

Though progress crowds it's fragile perch,

For lost in deep and murky waters,

Desperate ships for him search;

He stands out from all the others,

His architecture old, but true,

When change is all around us,

He is always close to view;

Marking off his constant light,

Many ships have safely sailed,

Ignoring his oh so gentle roar,

Upon the rocks ships have failed;

There is a lighthouse standing,

Father, he is called,

Different from all the others,

For in him, Love is walled;

He looms above the crowded throng,

A tower filled with wonders much,

His roar, both stern and gentle,

His light, a probing and warming touch;

In deep and silent waters,

Needing directions from the shore,

I seek the bright and guiding light,

And listen for his lion's roar;

For though I pilot this wondrous ship,

I hope never to be alone,

For on the shore stands my father,

Guiding me from times more known;

Always be old, but true,

Always shine and roar,

Always be my guiding light,

Even from the shore;

Thank you, Dad.

Ron Simpson, Jr.

Father’s Day 1994

Catching Up

I have been catching up with old classmates on Facebook .. it seems that there have been many deaths among those sharing my graduation decade (the 70's) .. it prompted this ..

Catching up

I remember a time, and it seemed like yesterday

We walked the same halls and sat in the same desks

We were trapped in our lives or so we thought

“When I get out of here, I’m gone.”

It would be several times in the several years after

That we would run into old friends from those days

We would ‘catch up’ will our fellow escapees

And bring everyone up to date on all the news

Of course, then, the news consisted of job information

Or college information, or wedding information

We would see who did finally marry who

And who went to which university as planned

There would be the sad news of the rare death

An accident, or a sudden illness, or other cause

Years would pass in our lives and they took shape

And we would visit the old places on home visits

And there we would see the occasional classmate

And we would ‘catch up’

Now, the news would be about a career

Or we would talk about our children

And we would laugh about the old days

And how we never figured our lives

Would have turned out his way

And, oh yeah, did you hear about Steve’s death

“Oh my, no, please tell me what happened.”

Before you know it, you are getting reunion news

“Has it been that long?”

Familiar haunts, memorable faces, recognizable names

We share; we are well into our careers,

And the kids are growing up so fast

We have built a life somewhere else

But it is great to come home and ‘catch up’

We listen and share stories so common

For all our different paths

We are all so much alike

“Where’s Dave, I didn’t think he would miss a reunion.

No, I hadn’t heard. I am so sorry.”

Out of touch for so many years now

More and more ‘catching up’ is sad news

Those that were once just a handful

Now would fill our old school bus

Or maybe even more than one

Every time you hear a statement

That begins with, “Did you hear about ..”

Your heart flinches just a bit

It could be good news

It could bring elation

More and more though

It is the harbinger of sadness

And yet

Here we are

“Catching up.”

Ron Simpson, Jr.

June 5, 2010

Poetry .. for Mom (Mother's Day 2010)

More than I could ever say

She has been a mom longer

Than she has been my mom

She had two successful trial runs

Before I came along

Even if I was her first boy

I don’t know how much she gleaned

From my two older sisters

And their care and feeding

But I do know I can’t remember a time I worried

That she didn’t know what she was doing

If she worried that worry

She never showed it to me

I didn’t always think she was right

(Although now, older, I realize she was right

Much more than I thought back then)

But, she was always still mom

I know there were times

I didn’t give her the respect she deserved

But, she still never stopped giving me love

Even though, now, as a parent myself

I know there are times I am afraid

She was fearless in my eyes

She was never afraid to correct me

She was never afraid to extol me

She was never afraid to admonish me

And she was never afraid to embrace me

As a child,

I never knew other kinds of moms existed

I thought everyone had a mother as good as mine

Now, over half a lifetime later

I can see the great and precious gift God gave to me

She will readily tell you that I was a gift from God

But she was not the sole recipient of gifts that day

God gave me the greatest mom in the world

For every time I may have forgotten to tell you

For every time we parted without hugs

For every time I could have said, and didn’t,

I love you, mom

More than I could ever say

Ron Simpson, Jr,

May 6, 2010

Poetry .. No Words

No words

There are words by the millions

We use them daily around the world

We express our joys and our sorrows

We build bridges with them

We tear down walls as well

Words tell our stories

Words sing our songs

Words lift our hearts

Words comfort our minds

We use our words

To express our desires

To articulate our needs

We teach our children

“Use your words”

Some people say so little with so much

Whiles others speak volumes with very little

Some words are anticipatory

Waiting for muttering to become “Mama”

Some words are prophetic

Spoken in a needed time

Some people are remembered for their words

The “I have a dream’s”

And the “Ask not’s”

With other words spoken out of hatred and fear

That we try so diligently to forget

Words

They are everywhere you look

We clutter our landscapes

With billboards filled with words

Words

They are everywhere you listen

We jam the airwaves

With every idea that can be

But, there are times

This being one of those

That, words cannot express

That, language, with all its finesse

Cannot make the listener know

The hand clenched into a fist

Not of rage, but frustration

Of being betrayed

By our closest companion

Words

All the words we know

Cannot tell what we feel

No collection of syllables

Will ever, ever tell

What they see inside this heart

They should be pouring outward

As it is broken

It cannot contain them

And yet they fail

The songwriter

Will never fully capture it

The poet

Will not be able to pen it

Today, there are

No words

Ron Simpson, Jr.

April 29, 2010

poetry .. Everybody Goes Home

Everybody goes home

When my children were young

Friends would gather

And they would play for hours

They would whisper and giggle

But, eventually, the time would wind down

And one by one, their friends went home

Family would come together

For holidays or just good meal

We would laugh and reminisce

We would meet all the new babies

Time would fly by

But, eventually, the time would wind down

And one by one, our family would go home

Saints would gather in

From places all over the country

The conference speakers were all primed

Together we would worship and recollect

The time was full of love and Spirit

But, eventually, the time would wind down

And one by one, we would all go home

For over two thousand year

Souls have been added

And we have fellowshipped together

Some we have met in person

Others we know only through prayer

And some, only by the shared spirit

But eventually, time would wind down

And one by one, they would go home

It can’t be long

Until time is no more

And there will be a great gathering

Children will assemble

From the far corners

And we will stand in the presence of our King

There will be no time to wind down

And everyone will be at home

Ron Simpson, Jr.

April 28, 2010

poetry .. Hurt (not a statement of my life)

This addresses no issues in my life. However, being somewhat empathic, I do feel the hurt of those around me and most times that migrates into my writing ...

oh yeah .. by the way .. this is my 1000th post .. wahooooooo

Hurt

Do not speak to me of tomorrow

Or of its magical healing properties

For, although time, may heal wounds

It also testifies of wounds that never heal

Do not talk to me of your pains

As if by having them

They should commiserate with mine

And that should make things well again

Do not try to placate me

With how this had to be for the best

You do not live within the walls of my life

And could never know

Just how far from the best this actually is

My life is one large gaping wound

The edges are frayed and ragged

In the center of this wound lies my heart

Ripped out and cast aside like debris

Trampled like the confetti from yesterdays parade

Your happiness chafes me

Your bliss cuts me like a dull ragged edge

Grating on the edging of my hurt

Impeding the very chances of recovery

Deep down I know you feel like you are helping

You imagine you must know my hurt

Perhaps in some place you do know

But cannot remember it exactly

From the shore upon which you now stand

It is as if one word, one action

Has made everything else in your life untrue

Everything you thought you knew is now unknown

Everything you tried to do is now undone

What was once in my heart has vanished away

Like the dew in the heat of the morning sun

Everything I held once true and dear

Slips through my fingers like elusive grains of sand

I do believe, I have to believe

Without that belief I could not get up each day

For now, I need to feel this hurt, pure and raw as it is

I need to know it, face it, and claim it

It must be me and I must be it

Do not try to take this away from me

If you cannot let me hurt

You add to my hurt

Hurt with me,

Hurt for me,

Hurt around me

If you must

But let me hurt

Hold my hand

Dry my tears

Listen to my ache

If you must

But let me hurt

I will be changed when this is done

But I will survive, nonetheless

I will be timid for a time, maybe forever

But … let me hurt

I know you are there

I know how much you care

I know where to find you

But ... let me hurt

Do what you must

Do what you can

Do what you will

But … let me

Hurt

Ron Simpson, Jr.

March 11, 2010

Valentine's Day poem for my love

Our love is like

Our love is like ..

Standing on a precipice

Feeling the rush of wind

From the depths below

Sometimes hot and arid

Sometimes moist and cool

Feeling the dizziness of the height

Yet, with my feet planted

Firmly on the ground

Living in the feeling

Of being swept up at any moment

Our love is like ..

The firm ground

At the edge of the abyss

It gives no hint of letting go

To the yawning cavern

Beckoning just below

Feeling the rock steady

The feeling of knowing it is there

And knowing it will be there

Should one jump

It will be there to land upon

Our love is like ..

Taking a walk

As walking is falling and catching

Lift one leg and fall forward

At the last moment

Catch yourself

Then do it again .. and again

Daily, over and over

I fall for you

I lean in the future

And before I fall

Our love catches me once more

Our love is like ..

Standing in a raging river

Pushing and buffeting

Constant threats

Of overflowing the banks

And sweeping me away

I can fight the current

Or I can go with the flow

The truth is somewhere in the middle

As I take our love wherever I go

And it takes me wherever it goes

Our love is like ..

Living in a volcano

Sometimes smoldering

Sometimes erupting

Sometimes smoke and ash

Sometimes liquid heat

Our passion burns

Sometimes just below the surface

Sometimes blindingly bright

Sometimes in smoky eyes

Sometimes in the simplest touch

Our love is like ..

A heart breaker

A soul mender

A life lifter

A hope carrier

A joy giver

Our love is like ..

Indescribable

In every way

On every day

And still we try

I love you, TJ

Ron Simpson, Jr

February 10, 2010

For Valentine’s Day

still drawing

Friend ... Hope

Daughter .. Heather

Friend .. Carolyn

TJ's Aunt Carol

Doc .. M Hinkle

poetry .. Real

Real

Lying here entwined with you

I am overwhelmed

Inhaling the scent of you

Absorbing the warmth of you

Swimming in the gentle roar of you breathing

Adoring the soft touch of your fingers

Feeling your skin next to mine

Desire is sated

And reborn in every touch

Passion explodes

And rekindles in every kiss

Want is emptied out

And filled in every caress

I know love is a feeling

I know it is supposed to be intangible

I also know that I feel it against me

I smell it

I taste it

I am surrounded by it

I hear it

I see it sparkling in your eyes

And feel it sparkling in mine

My love for you

Exists in all of my senses

And while it may be indescribable

Well beyond the words of my lips

I know it when it comes to me

I am carried away by its scent

I am blinded by its brilliance

My heart pounds in rhythm

To the sound of its beat

My lips savor the taste

Long after our lips have parted

My fingers remember

The feel of it beneath them

My love

Your love

Our love

Real

Ron Simpson, Jr

January 29, 2010

on a totally unrelated note ..

AVA !!

and Cuteness has a sister ..

Cuteness Overload

I told Cloe I was going to throw her away this morning. She said, "Put me in the trash, Papaw." This in one of the resulting pictures ..