He didn't live with us, only recall seeing him twice.
But the image I have, always has been,
always will be, an unforgettable memory.
A small crowed room, people I don't know, he was
all dressed up, they were about to take him to the cemetery.

I was four years old, maybe five, still not quite sure.
Too young to fully understand what was happening.
It was something important, that much I could tell.
Didn't know the man at all, but over years since then,
I've gotten to know him quite well.

Tall, athletic, about six feet or so, with  
a screwed up pinky on both of his hands.
Loved music, laughed a lot, had a temper and a weakness
for chicks, especially the tall slim ones.

My grandparents raised me well.
Growing up on Montserrat was unbelievable fun,
you can't buy the experiences I had.
No regrets.
But I often wonder what it would've been like, to 
grow up with a dad.

Life is full of special moments, some of which you'd 
love to share with your old man.
Graduation, winning my first race, a ball game,
guinness at a bar, the birth of my son.

I've heard a lot of stories about him.
Some good, some bad.
Changes nothing, really don't give a damn.
That face in the mirror, that's my dads.
He was what I am.
I miss you man...


Charles copyright © 2000 Ahkenaton  All rights reserved