She sits at my feet
playing with American Girl dolls
and I wonder
what kind of man am I?
The radio plays Ishman's theme
from October Sky
as she converses with her nostalgic friends.
Tears flood my eyes.
I've been traveling, almost nine days in a row
and I've missed her so, this house, these dolls.

Earlier this morning she asked her mother
am I more like you or Dad?
I want to believe there's still such a thing
as American girls,
not just global citizens.
What kind of man am I
that prefers film scores to hip hop,
October skies to July's pomp,
and staying put?
I pray she's most like herself.


  1. Sometimes I find myself praying to be more like my daughter. And I can't figure out if she's like the me I lost somewhere along the way or if she just possesses strengths I never even had.

  2. I have to say...having not been raised with the poster child of good fathers, whenever I see a "good dad" in action, my heart swells. Fortunately, I am married to such a man. And so is Mer.