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| The boys; my boys. |
You find me happy; a condition that lives with me, happy to
be alive, happy to breath, happy to have two boys (sons), who are happy and a
wife that calls me her “honey-doo.” Life is good when it’s happy; happy is good
when it’s a part of your life.
Listening carefully, I hear the voice of my mother; the
voices of my father; the voice of my uncles; the voice of people I do not know
who need something I do not have, but voices calling that make it apparent I
can get what the voices need. Listening, I hear the voices of the mothers and
their children on the bus stops on a hot summer day or a cold winter night
asking why me; what did I do wrong in my timeline to not be in a cool car or have
my own warm ride? The babies call, sad, crying, hungry, some dying with the
flying bullets from people who will not listen to the graves of last years
past.
Life makes me presents; a present that is not a gift, a
present in the here and now; the today and tomorrow, this year and next year –
not promised, but hoped for. Working hard everyday to make sure my to boys see
the way is worth the pain, worth the trouble, because when I look into their
eyes, its Daddy’s body double.
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