jackpickel

(My dad, me, my brother, circa 1964)

I wrote this for the old man several years ago…

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FINGER DANCIN’

My father never danced, but his fingers did.

I remember seeing the muscles of my father’s sun-baked arms flex as his work-worn fingers danced upon the fret board of an old Martin guitar playing the bluegrass and gospels songs of his mountain youth.

I remember knowing that my father was an unemotional man except when he played his music and in hearing his music I could see the passion of his heart.

My father never danced, but his fingers did.

I remember as a child in the living room of our old home place watching him play and dancing to the music of my father – and nobody told me I couldn’t.

Time has taken my father from me and I wish I could have him back – if only for a moment, for I would once again like to dance to the music of my father.

My father never danced,  but his fingers did.

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Miss ya, Pop.

~ by jackpickel on March 19, 2016.

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