Life is a whirlwind,

constantly spinning and dancing around us,

the gusts of joy and pain,

victory and loss,

swirling us about any way it seems fit.

In this storm we often forget who we were and where we came from,

but I have found that there will always be one thing I remember.

 

I remember a face I could somewhat see,

a scratchy one that would irritate my skin.

I had yet to learn to speak my mind,

yet I knew him by the warmth he provided.

His embrace calmed my mind,

his arms like a hearth,

a hearth that would protect me from the cold new world I found myself in.

 

I remember the excitement,

the joy he brought me.

He would come out and play with me,

whether it be soccer, 

or tag,

or any other folly that could have easily been ignored.

He came out and played with me,

for the sake that it was me.

 

I remember the lessons,

the knowledge he taught me.

He would hold my bike,

and even when my courage left me,

my eyes shut out of fear in and distress

he would help me along.

As I would open my eyes,

I would not see him,

but rather what he had taught me,

how he had taught me to be brave.

 

I remember the pain,

when I would come crashing down off the bike,

enveloped in pain and confusion.

How he would hold me,

not physically healing my wounds,

but just holding me,

comforting my mind and soul.

How he would protect me,

even if there was nothing more he could do,

but hold me in his arms.

 

I remember the warmth he gave,

I remember the joy he brought,

I remember the lessons he taught,

I remember the pain he comforted,

but most of all,

I remember why he did all this.

I remember the love he gave me,

the love that even when I would toss him aside,

casting him away like an object,

he would always return.

Always waiting,

patient and kind and humble,

always ready to take me back.

I remember my father.

I remember who he was,

what he is,

and what he always will be.

My dad,

a man who loves me.