I don't honor my Father at all
Frankly I know little about him
To me he was a giant and a coward
My first remembrance taken to taverns
Beer put in my bottle
I spit it out and I performed for his friends
Beating up women and children
I heard he was six ft six-- possibly six nine
He always towered over me
Should I blame him for being an alcoholic?
An Irish family raised on wine
We make our own choices
I know of only one job he held
Coal trucker driver stoking coal for the devil
Police Officers feared him--never one on one
Yet he hid fighting for his country
During World War Two
In that much I call him a coward
One day a kid in my class said,
"Have you read this--is this your dad?
It was about the coal miners strike
The Union had dropped logs on the road
One Independent driver alone moved them off the road.
The story went as Paul Bunyan
"You want to put those trees back on
I'll stand an watch I won't drive through."
All the union men together could not move the trees
The time the place the name
He had those who admired him as a Man's man
His son grew up wanting him man to man
Not a hero to me I trained from youth to take him on
When he died in a house fire I could only say
"It is appropriate he is sharing wine with the devil."
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