So, just watched a really great little photo essay on the importance of Dads and thought I would share this poem about my Dad and the wonderful man he was.
Shells of the Summer of ‘62
by Joan Leotta
The soft ripple of low tide
rolled in to chill our toes.…
Dad said the damp sand
was good for walking.
He pulled up the collar of my jacket.
Wind was pushing dark clouds our way.
There’d be no afternoon of sun and sandcastles.
We hopped over lines of soft white foam
zigzagging across the strip of brown sand
between our place and the ocean.
Gulls screeched, “Go back!”
I never looked up. My eyes were set
to hunt treasures in dawn’s tide.
At last I spotted something!
An orange fan! A perfect scallop shell!
Surf crashed with sudden interest in my search.
Foam fingers fastened on my prize,
pulling it back out into the ocean.
“Dad!”
Without even rolling up his pants,
He chased the wave back out toward the rocks.
He bent over and put down his hand.
Another wave swelled up.
“Dad, look out!”
In another second he was completely soaked.
But he had my shell.
I have it still.
_____
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So, postscript to the poem. I married a man with the same wonderful qualities as my Dad. He is a great husband and a great father. Virtual hugs to my Dad (now in heaven) and to my beloved husband, real hugs and kisses and best wishes on Father’s Day
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