The following is a lil poem diddy I wrote for my PHENOMENAL father, Jimmy, for his Memorial Day Surprise Birthday Party, when I was last home. In my hay day of middle and high school, I busted out poems all the time with the help of my handy, dandy Scholastic Rhyming Dictionary I got at a third grade book fair (ya, remember those?!? I bought many an poster and bookmark there!). I even got a few poems published (I know how lame I sound), so I retreated to my youth and created this for mi padre.
End note: I will blog about my dad and some great tales in the near future as well, just as I did for my mom and mother’s day.
Thank you for grilling the meat at your own party.
By the way, the burgers are great and hearty.
I know it’s a bit silly to celebrate 6 months early.
But it’s cool because you are nearly 60 and still burly.
Thanks for being the best Dad to us alive.
We’ve all learned so much from you and thrived.
You are saving our country with your involvement in politics
While still being intelligent and funny in your antics.
I’ve told you for years you are a silver fox.
Your humorous ability to light up a room really rocks.
At nearly age 60, you are aging like fine wine.
Steve, Katie, Slick and I are happy to say as our Dad you are all mine.
You’re a heck of a golfer in my eyes at least.
Anyone who can crush it 250 is a beast.
Mom and you beat up ballroom dance.
Your class resurrected Phil Collins and Elton John music by chance.
You have the smallest pallet I’ve ever met.
Chicken fingers, burgers, or steak is all you will ever restaurant get.
While I’m home I’m trying to turn off every light.
I finally get that if I’m not using it, it shouldn’t be bright…
On long car rides you can be a Bathroom Nazi.
But then in Italia, you were so polite saying “grazie!”
Our 3,000 mile journey to San Diego was an amazing road trip!
The days you do expand your pallet you order a French dip.
McD’s, which you should have stock in, has your favorite “freedom” fry.
You’ve always been a nickname kind of guy.
Jonathan looked like a mischievous trip.
So you opted to name our Persian-looking son Slick.
Steve couldn’t stop from hitting objects with a bat.
So you gave him the infamous alias of Wack.
Being a pumpkin thrice for Halloween was my funk.
So you crowned me with the name of Punk.
“Rosie, my Love!” you call Mom since she’s prettier than any other flower.
You surely melt under her innocence and power.
Jimbo- you really are a classy guy.
You made it really hard to say our roommate goodbye
Thanks again or being the greatest person and Dad to us you could be.
With God as your Savior, the Truth will set you free.