Dad, I Have A Question (Prosey Thing)

Dad, I Have A Question

Why can’t we go see a Jethro Tull concert?

And why can’t we talk about the ceremonial scars on my body?

And why can’t we go fishing for one day, just you and I?

And why can’t we talk about my favorite book, Steppenwolf?

And why can’t we talk about sex frankly, without joking?

And why can’t we lay under the blue sky while you tell me stories?

And why can’t we talk about the things that confuse you (because maybe they confuse me too)?

And why can’t we talk about why you were such a hard ass when I was a kid?

And why can’t I tell you how much I think a magic brownie would do you immense good?

And why can’t I ask you if it’s possible that my feelings of intimidation

In the face of masculine displeasure

Are the result of the anger

That you felt towards me

As an infant?

And why can’t we listen to the mathematical genius of Rush

Or the power of Metallica

Or the beauty of some of the Beatles lyrics?

And why don’t you tell me you are proud of me anymore?

And why can’t I tell you that one of the favorite memories in my life came two years ago

When I was laying alone

At the bottom of a deep canyon

High on mushrooms, marijuana and mescaline

Feeling that I belong to the earth and the sky

Above all

Above even you?

And why can’t I tell you how many times I have almost changed the name I share with you?

And why can’t I ask you why I seem to get into relationships with amazing women – but can’t stay?

And why can’t we talk about how strange it is when you realize you are nearly fifty years old – and don’t know shit?

And why can’t I tell you how much I love to be in a drum circle from time to time?

And why can’t we discuss how alone I feel – and ask you if is it like this for all middle-aged men?

And why don’t you come watch me run a race up a mountain?

And why don’t you allow yourself to feel?

Aren’t you afraid to look back on your life

And see that you didn’t need to jump from stone to stone

But realize instead that you could have walked on the water?

Are you already dead, or are you a man waiting at the bus stop

Looking at the destination sign of each approaching behemoth

Hoping it’s your turn to board?

(Hint: the waiting and the boarding are the same thing)

What are you afraid of?

I have to ask because

The fears you did not face

Have turned their attention from you

And now look at me

With deep and hungry eyes…

--Eric Marley

June 2011