It was Saturday mornings like this;
or don't you remember?
Five-year-old me riding shotgun,
watching your cigarette embers
blow hastily out the window,
listening to the engine hum.

The Beatles would play on the radio,
you'd sing along,
and try to teach me, too.
“Close your eyes, and I’ll kiss you,
tomorrow I’ll miss you,
remember I’ll always be true…”

I’d watch your fingers drum rhythmically
on the steering wheel -
something I’d thought only daddies could do.

You may not have realized it,
but at a young age you taught me
how to love life, and embrace it completely.
With loving words, and a strong heart,
you told me I could be
anything I wanted to be.

I remember being young:
you, a drummer, on the road.
I’d wake up, startlingly,
every single time you came home.
You’d leave us each with
a kiss on the forehead,
promising, always, to come home.
“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you,
tomorrow I’ll miss you…”
Singing us Beatles’ lullabies
with promises to never leave us alone.

Some nights I’d wake up
in the middle of the night.
In a panic, I’d run out to the living room
just to see the glow of the TV light.
“Daddy?,” I’d say, in a tiny voice
that only little girls laced with fatigue
can have.
Waking you up out of a dead sleep,
I thought, maybe, you’d be mad.
But you’d just look up,
and look over
to where I was standing,
And say,
“Baby, come lay with me.”

In your arms I found safety,
and the first protection I’d ever known.
You, daddy, are the one that I’ll come to
if ever I want to come home.

The TV lights glow soft now,
and that little girl is little, no more.
But don’t you ever think I’ll forget,
your voice when you’d close the door:
“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you,
tomorrow I’ll miss you,
remember I’ll always be true.
And then while I’m away,
I’ll write home every day.
And I’ll send all my loving to you.
All my lovin’, I will send to you.
All my lovin, darlin’, I’ll be true.
All my lovin’, all my lovin’..”


Happy Birthday, daddy.