War-roughened and sweet,

Father of three,

he graced this world with his smile,

and an ever-present smirk.

I don’t remember it,

but there’s a picture of me and him,

he’s holding my chunky baby body

while I looked up at his face.

I was wearing his red hat

on my over-sized head.

He was smiling at me,

just grinning like he did

for the whole world to see.

He was a gambler.

A damn good one.

A lucky coin always

in between his two fingers

while his eyes twinkled,

searching for tickets.

He was a drinker.

A Pabst Blue Ribbon

always in his hand,

unless he got a wild hair,

and opted for whiskey instead.

He was a war vet.

Overseas he fought valiantly

for the red, white and blue.

He never spoke of his time over there

with the boys.

We know only of his valor

through his medals

and mumblings.

Upon realizing how many medals

my Pap had earned,

My Dad exclaimed with a teary face,

“Did he leave any medals for anyone else?”

He was a father.

A father of three strong women,

blonde-haired beauties,

who never take no for an answer.

I wonder where they got that from.

Truth be told,

I wish this poem to do him some justice.

I cannot encapsulate a man like that

in a few words.

But if anything is to be taken from this,

it is that we love you Pap.

You can rest easy now.