My Father's Footprint

I knew not to step on a crack when walking.

I'd take leaps over them, just in case.

An unwary placement could break-a-back.

Best to seek a well-trodden path and avert disaster.

~

On the all-too-seldom times we would walk together as a family

I would carefully step in the imprint left by my father.

That step was already-tested. It was safe. It was known.

My feet fit within the familiar outline.

~

I have my mother's eyes and my father's smile.

I burn in the sun like an Irish ancestor surely did.

I blame my temper on my Italian-Scots' roots.

My footsteps slip into my father's path without a conscious will.

~

Not all pathways explored by my father deserve further exploration.

Not all footsteps deserve to echo across time.

Mimicking his every decision and response would be disastrous.

But- the comfort-easiness of the familiar following has its own seductive pull.

~

My steps are my own.

My gait, once so comfortable following his lead,

Once content to unquestioningly conform to his example, my walk

Is my one-time-chance to follow my this-life path of personal creation.

~

My father made his own journey-choice

His steps left a lasting mark on the world- and on me.

My journey's-choices are mine to make (to my fresh surprise)

Daily decisions: to follow the familiar? or step outside the lines and into the sunlight?

~

My walk is my own, my steps-choices blaze my own path.

Just that, though, is missing the lesson I must learn, The practice that I bring- shiny new- on my journey.

Let it be on me to extend a hand backwards to help those that may see my path,

And hold them -loosely- in the light as they make their path their own.

~~~~~

Sometimes he surprised me, the man wasn't predictable. This was such an occasion:

And his path was not one that I should truly follow:

And finding my own way has been challenging, with me missing the way over and over:

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