Father & Son

I can't imagine
what it must be like
to be fifty-nine.
I'm only thirty-one
and I think I'm old,
but I know that
isn't quite the case.
My father was
in his late twenties
when I was born
and was given his
name. I disliked
my name as a child.
I wished I was one
of the kids with
a common name.
Eventually I got over
that and began to see
the gift that it was.
I am the son of my
father, I bear his
name as well
as I can. I told him
Happy Birthday
this morning
and gave him
a hug. Sixty is
next for him
and thirty-two
is almost here.
We'll be fine.