In Memory
MY DADDY’S TOOLS
When my father was fifteen
He went to fight in the war
When he got back, he wasn’t the same anymore
He went right to work, to keep his mind off of things
Probably all the things that he had seen
Putting up buildings
50 stories and more
Nothing could take his mind off the war
So he started to drink He thought that it did the trick
But on one or more occasions it had him licked
A spud wrench and Hard Hat was part of his game
It was a family tradition they all did the same
He was just using his tools
And he was raising his gang
My mother loved him
She stuck by his side
When he got home from drinking
We would all run and hide
When we got older we drank just like him
We thought nothing about it, it wasn’t a sin
We thought it was cool
To use my daddy’s tools
To drink and to fight
To stay out all night
We were just using my
Daddy’s tools
He was just raising his gang
He wore a hard hat
But he had a soft heart
One that was broken and torn all apart
A spud wrench just couldn’t fix
What had happened that night
A car accident took his oldest son’s life
My daddy drank
To drink away all the pain
His kids all watched and we did the same
We were just using my Daddy’s tools
He was just raising his gang
A friend said to me
I think from his heart
Your Daddy’s tools, has torn your life a part
I think you have to stop using your Daddy’s tools
And I knew he was right
So, I’m picking up new ones and these ones are mine
They aren’t made of Iron
They are the spiritual kind.
To always be thankful for all that I have
To never give up and do the best that I can
Look for the truth and be a good friend
And then to be Thankful all over again
And
Have “Creator” close in my Heart
That’s where it begins
That’s where it all starts
I’ll be using my tools
And I will be raising my gang
And I’ll remember my Dad
Hope you do the same. ©
In Memory of Hubert Bonaparte
I still love you.
Tami
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