I passed you en route to my room just from habit
But you stop me, asking me to sit and talk a bit
You don't ask much of me, so I oblige your request
More than happy to talk with my dad at his behest
Because when I think about it, I don't talk to you as often as I might
And time keeps rolling past us, while our past fades from sight
So we talk about life, love, and our family history
The first tears hit my eyes when you speak of being proud of me
I know you are, because I've seen it in your eyes countless times
But, to talk with you right now and hear you say it makes my eyes shine
Especially when I think of how far we've come over the last several years
That I can truly love you as my father also brings up these tears
Even through the past hate and pain, I remember times when you were my hero
And those times come blazing forth, overshadowing the times you were my greatest foe
I remember when you came home when John had beat Kieth while I hid
I remember the way you beat him and threw him out from the perspective of a little kid
I looked up to you and was proud of you too at that moment
You gave me the drive to be intelligent, allowed me to foment
As we talk, the hours drift idly by just listening to your stories
About our family history, through the tragedies and personal glories
Although I've heard parts of the trials and tribulations before
You open up history with descriptions of my Great Grandmother before the first World War
How the Kossaks killed her children while she hid in a cesspool
Dragging your six year old Uncle to a cross to die crucified above a blood pool
About the great romance between my Great Grandfather and Mother opening like a fable
How they were so poor, they used the front door of their home as both a bed and a table
Of the trouble she had coming into the country because of her club foot disability
I get caught up in the history the unfolding tale of my family tree
And even as I am listening to the expanse of it, to your breadth of knowledge
I respect you anew, for the intelligence you've bestowed on me without high school or college
So, dad, I write you a poem with the skills that you alone have given me
Just to thank you for our talk 'til 3 a.m., it's one of my most treasured memories.

-David "Dingo" Bleecher