A Beautiful Day

“Time to get up!” the little boy cheered,

Early on a Sunday.

“Let’s go, Daddy—

Let’s go outside and play!”

He hopped upon his parents’ bed

With carefree leaps and bounds.

Then bounced upon his daddy’s belly,

Letting out “boing, boing” sounds.

“Five more minutes,” said the father,

As under the blankets he huddled.

“But before we start our day, my boy—

Come here. We must cuddle!”

After their hugs,

They went out back,

Picked up their trusty mitts

And a brand-new baseball pack.

“Alright,” said the father,

“Here comes pitch number one—

My famous fastball.

Better get ready, son.”

“That’s all you’ve got, old man?”

The boy teased with a smile.

“That pitch was nothing—

I’d knock it out a mile.

“Well, in that case,

Here comes the curve.

No one can hit my

Patented slurve.”

“Dad… that barely moved—

You’re past your prime.

So tell me, old man,

What pitch is it this time

“Alright, you wanted the best,”

Said Dad, ready to tease.

“My secret pitch is famous—

I call it ‘the cheese.’”

Then Dad, with a sly grin,

Spun ’round with practiced ease,

Stuck out his rear and fired off

A gusty, gassy breeze—

“Farrrrtttttttt!”

The boy howled with laughter,

Falling to his knees.

“Dad—please, never again

Throw me the cheese!”

They laughed together,

Then played some more.

“Dad, I’m getting bored—

What’s next in store?”

“It’s such a beautiful day,

Like no other.

Come on, my boy—

Let’s pick flowers for Mother.”

They gathered lilacs, roses,

Even bright white lilies.

The boy grabbed twelve dandelions—

Sweet, and wonderfully silly.

“What a beautiful bouquet,”

Said Mom with a smile.

“Looks like you boys

Were gone quite a while.”

“Now let’s put on

Our Sunday best.

We’re heading to church

To pray and profess.”

They knelt at Mass

And prayed as one—

Mother, father,

And their young son.

They offered alms

For those with need,

And left bags of groceries

To help the hungry feed.

Next, they traveled to Grandma’s house,

Where she simmered beef stew.

She pinched the boy’s cheeks

And said, “Sonny, I love you.”

They helped her tidy up,

Inside and out of her home,

Pulled weeds, trimmed bushes,

Then split a raspberry scone.

They visited the market,

Then wandered the beach,

Where the father shared wisdom

Only love knows to teach.

When evening grew quieter,

They fished by the lake,

Pulling in gleaming trout

And spotting a water snake.

“Hey, Dad—

I’ll race you to that tall tree there!

You move like a tortoise,

I’m swift as a hare!”

Dad chuckled warmly

And set down both poles.

“Alright, my son—

Ready now? Let’s go!”

They dashed through the twilight

In joyful, wild glee,

Till the boy slipped and fell,

Scraping skin from his knee.

He cried in a heartbeat,

Red drops gently spread.

Dad cleaned it with kindness

And kissed his bowed head.

“It’s okay to feel things, son—

That’s what strong people do.

And no matter what happens…

I’ll always be here for you.”

They returned home

In time for dinner.

“How was your day?” asked the mother.

“Oh, it was a winner!”

The family laughed,

Shared, and ate.

The boy helped wash

The dinner plates.

“Okay now, son,

It’s time for bed,”

The father ever so

Gently said.

“Dad—ten more minutes?

Please, please, please, please?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the father.

“How about thirty?”

They read a book,

Then walked to his room.

The day came and went

So very soon.

As the boy

Tried to sleep,

They prayed to the heavens,

Then counted sheep.

The father thought

Of the joy he’d had.

And in that stillness,

The boy whispered – “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, son,”

He said with delight.

“Sweet dreams, my boy—

Won’t you sleep tight?”

Family, love,

Joy and play—

A simple but

Beautiful day.

……..

“Won’t you tell me more

About your family?”

Said a nurse to the father,

Now aged ninety-three.

“Well… to be honest,

It was only a story.

As I reflect back,

It’s just a fantasy.

A day I never lived,

Moments I never had…

And here I sit instead—

Old, alone,

And sad.”

There’s some truth, I suppose,

In the tale of my life.

I do have a son,

And once had a wife.

But a day like that?

No—never, I’m afraid.

I chased other things

Along the way.

My boy wouldn’t rush into my room

At the crack of dawn.

My door was always locked

Through every early morn.

I was often tired

After long weeks of work,

And deep inside me,

A steady cynicism lurked.

I wasn’t affectionate

With my own son—

Thought toughening him early

Would shape a stronger one.

We never played catch,

Not once, like I said;

Never wrestled for fun,

Never cuddled in bed.

I told myself always

There were bigger tasks.

He was such a good boy—

He never thought to ask.

I lived as a servant

To the almighty dollar,

Worked a hundred hours weekly—

Polished, savvy, a scholar.

They loved me at work,

But at home I was unknown…

And that is why I'm sitting here

With you—

Alone.

I was never silly,

Too rigid to be lighthearted—

I’d have bristled at that childish joke

About the time I farted.

I never stopped to smell the roses

Or bring them home to my wife.

I took for granted

What truly mattered in life.

I never fought for her,

Nor chased when she left,

Too lost in my own

False self-importance.

I never went to church—

Thought people of faith were small-minded.

Now I question the meaning of life

And all that lies behind it.

I never gave to the poor—

Assumed they lacked drive.

But all along,

I was the one impoverished inside.

I didn’t visit my mother,

Or show respect to the old.

But Father Time has found me now—

His hands are firm and cold.

He’s carved his name upon my face,

Taken strength from every bone.

And only now I realize

Their stories could’ve guided my own.

I never had time for this,

Nor time for that—

Now time is the one thing

I ache to have back.

Time to cast a line,

Time on the beach,

Time to grow wiser,

Time left to teach.

Time to be present

For the joyous and sad,

And far less time wasted

Being petty and mad.

If my son cried,

I’d harden and say,

“A real man doesn’t

Act that way.”

That brittle version of manhood—

A lie I swallowed as truth.

I locked up every feeling,

And goddamned threw away my youth!

We rarely sat for dinner

Together as a family.

I’d eat with newscasters and pundits

Preaching at me from the TV.

Bedtime stories and whispered prayers—

I never saw the need.

Didn’t grasp that even I

Had a starving soul to feed.

I never gave thanks

For the blessings I had.

Lived ungrateful, numb,

And seldom glad.

I’m afraid, my son has grown

Into a mirror of me—

A father of children

I seldom see.

I own vacant mansions,

Sports cars I’m too brittle to drive,

Boats rotting at their moorings,

Priceless Monets—maybe five?

I built generational wealth,

Yet lost those I should’ve held near.

My name will fade in silence,

And no one will shed a tear.

So, my friend,

You can choose a road—

Follow my footsteps,

Or be like the man in the story I told.

Live in the moment,

Give thanks for today;

Everything we love

Will one day slip away.

The nurse squeezed the old man's shoulder softly,

Smiled and whispered, “Goodnight, sir,” before heading home,

And the old man remained behind,

In a room that felt unbearably alone.

......

The nurse returned to his place

At quarter past eleven,

Cracked open his daughter’s door—

Sleeping softly, age seven.

He kissed her warm forehead,

Brushed her cheek with his thumb,

And whispered,

“I love you, my sweet little one.”

Morning broke gently.

He woke with a start,

Called out of work

With a changed, quiet heart.

He climbed on her bed

And bounced as he said,

“Wake up, wake up,

You sleepyhead!”

The girl was overjoyed, speechless—

Didn’t know what to say.

In that quiet miracle of morning, he vowed:

“Today will be a beautiful day.”