Big Surf rocks
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Do we become our parent? Do we follow their footsteps.
My father, like most men. He learned to hide is sadness and disappointment. He accepted less.
I did see in his eyes when the rum took control, how the sadness overtook his life. He spoke to dead friends at the kitchen table left in the Korean dirt and he wanted to go to California to find his friend.
Age begin to steal the last of his hope and dreams, the disappointment did become less painful. His children became is last chance at glory.
I remember when I was thirteen. He drank his rum and loaded the car. We left the house heading west. He wanted California and some kind of peace. We made Chicago and he passed out. In the morning we returned home and my father left the dreams on 1-94.
I wished my father won more than he lost. He told me often. No place for a Mexican/Ojibwa in this world. You get education and allow no-man to look down at you. The Army took my father to wars, taught him to kill and punish. He learn the education well. He killed in war and in bars. His life was soaked in blood and disappointment.
I’m 55 years old and I learn to accept less. I see my father face in the mirror and I look at pictures of friends who never came home and I drink to their memory. Now I dream of California. Maybe one day I will pack my stuff up and hide-out somewhere on the Big Surf coastline.
Last child graduated from High School and I did my best. Today I wonder if there is a safe haven for people like me. I’m a dinosaur with old ways and views. I want some peace and long conversation with real friends. Away from the highways and B.S of life. Like Father, I had accept less.
Written in 1992/Rewritten in 2014