Some Days More Than Others

This is one of those days. I miss my Daddy. He’s been gone from this earth for 28 years. He taught me so much. He loved me so much. Every time I see an American flag, I think of him. This poem reminds me why. 

Illinois, 1969

Patriotic ritual
Old Glories
packed in the Buick’s trunk.
At dawn’s early light
father and daughter travelled sleeping streets
planting reminders of freedom
in front of shuttered stores, unopened offices.

Between bites of donuts and sips of steaming coffee
we discussed
the progress of our lives
who would win the World Series come September
why we love this country
which funeral homes had the bodies for that week.

In safe seclusion
somewhere in Southern Illinois
we were untouched by
a war being fought in a foreign swamp
nameless protestors marching on the capitol
nuclear arms and unequal rights.

Bring out Mom, apple pie, and all the kids!
Stand them on your front porch
so we can salute as we go by!


Copyright © 1988 by Laura Wasson Warfel

My Dad, Rex Wasson, and me (June 1972, my high school graduation)

My Dad, Rex Wasson, and me (June 1972, my high school graduation)

One of the best gifts I've ever received: my poem, written in calligraphy and framed, from the McAndrew family

One of the best gifts I've ever received: my poem, written in calligraphy and framed, from the McAndrew family