Father.

My father is a man of few words.

A crying shame

because I could listen to the sailor’s stories for hours —

of lost watches purloined by pirates,

or storms raging in places I’d never heard of.

Of shiftless crew members and their forsaken watch duties,

the worst of whom

earned the unfortunate moniker “Bloody Bastard.”

The man loves to read,

a gift he gave all of his children.

But beyond our command

of the English language,

he filled our heads with such a peculiar, impractical vocabulary.

Words that are so much fun to say

but that we never get to work into conversation,

like bosun, gangway, and midships.

To board a vessel with him

was to hear a chorus of “Captain!”

From Filipino seamen whose

exults were tinged with admiration and respect.

His brand of stoicism

puts Aurelius to shame,

but beneath his cloak of humility,

weather-beaten by years of open sea,

is an unending and beaming pride in his family —

undeserving recipients

of his paternal doting,

which, it seems, is his favorite hobby.

To test this,

merely make mention of your favorite snack

and watch him find it at a far away store

and ride the three busses it takes to go get it.