Fatherhood, that long and rugged path made fruitless by the stubbornness of my seed, leaves only the dreams of baseball diamonds, campfires, and knowledge taken with such esteem that you feel false in its exchange.


I fret those years of future promises, a paternal vow rebutted in the headstrong nature that only youth can have, and pledges made to sever the sins and failures of the fathers, father as lessons learned to the son, lost to the dogged nature of my genes.


Held firm by the bonds of man I am a spectator to the infinite rehearsal of our lives, that neither leather lash nor boisterous voice can dissuade us from our course.  I can only weep in the hopeful darkness of that trepid future I clutch to so dearly.