I like what I see
In my kids;
Others may say, They're like her's or his;
That's okay, but they don't see
The subtleties revealed to me.

They were listening when I spoke,
And now they hear other folks;
They were watching when I'd act
In sync with our social contracts.
Please and Thanks was our mantra,
Repeated now as personal dogma.

I didn't see they were watching,
Watch they did, and they were copying.
Believe me, I'm not being boastful,
If that's the case, I too am blameful
For anything that causes pain,
Though unintended, it's the same.

I'm so pleased with my kids,
And they aren't just like
Her's or his;
They're mine.
And I like what I see in their kids.

Do you like what you see
In mine?

The twins came today.
They took their first breaths
On this first day of May.
Today, and all days,
I swear and I pray,
To love them always,
Come what may.

Where do you see yourself in fifty years? I have absolutely no ******* idea. I don’t. I really don’t and for the longest time I thought that was something to be ashamed of. It probably still is but I certainly am no longer on that boat. I can tell you where I would want to be, if that makes it any better…
The proper or more common way to answer this would probably be to describe my future employment of choice or the amount of little Julie’s and Tommy’s I plan on having around the kitchen table. Yeah, that would be ideal but then again, there is no substance in that. There is no honesty in that type of answer, only social norm. Or our need to go against it.
In fifty years, I hope to be sane. I hope to have developed the capability of living with my sins and not let my anger and poor decision crowd my mind. I hope to see that behind every stupid act I’d done in the past, were hidden good intentions and not just a broken window where the frigid wind of teen rebellion would flow through. I hope to be able to sit on my front porch, watch my grand-Julie’s and Tommy’s run around freely, knowing that the life they have is much better than the one I wanted.  
In fifty years, hopefully, I’ll have learned that grey hairs don’t mean wisdom but experience. That instead of guidelines to live by, I’ll have stories to share. I hope that my skin will have become creased with tall tales like a vase molded by life’s hands.
In fifty years, I hope to be young. To be filled with vibrant energy and to resonate love. I hope not to be the answer to problems, but a set of hands that’ll hold a loved-one when nothing can be done because that is when we truly need saving.
In fifty years, oh, how I will have lived. I will have fulfilled my most wanted wish from childhood.

In fifty years…I will have lived.

Today you left memories in our minds and love in our hearts,
in fact, looking around the room that's only the start.
You left behind grandkids, sons, close friends, and a wife,
who is probably the reason you made it this long in life.

Today you left behind houses that families call home,
and plenty of pictures reminding us how you never needed a comb.
You left tearful prayers on Christmas Day, hearty chuckles and grins,
You, the trunk of the tree where all these branches begin

Today you left and that's ok, we know you had to go,
to fulfill God's plan that we can only wish to know.
I may know the burglar, but it still feels like theft.
I guess you were a guest in this world, and today you left.

Thank you for teaching these hands of mine to try,
and fix, and care, and build, and now wave goodbye.
Of all the lessons you taught me, this one hurts to know  
Sometimes your favorite people at a party still have to go.

They kissed there for the very first time.
Their hearts pounding as the storm lashed the trees.
They made love there furtively on the grass.
The first humans to ever make love.
Five decades later, their grand kids stood there, a faded b/w picture in hand.

The old windmill smiled.

Mammy vacuumed
So the grandkids
Could play.
The kids have grown,
Mammy left,
Just the other day.