I was determined to enter the world feet first.
Like my mother’s father sixty years before.
But I decided to use my head and
Think it through, and follow the orderly
Method expected. On time. Exactly.
To the predicted day and without hesitation.

From the start, my passion for sports
Has challenged the kitchen window.
Multiple times
The neighbor’s fence, and the garage door -
Which was a frequent target of my wooden bat.
And I have yet to meet a puddle that I didn’t like.

My mother stares at me and says I look
Just like her father.
That I don’t really remember.
I sit with my hands held just like his without knowing.
I remember the day he died.
My mother holds her pain inside,
But I know she cries when I’m not there.

My father doesn’t understand my need
For structure and order in processes.
He cannot understand that the tables get folded
From right to left, and two rows over,
Then straight up the left side.
Quietly. And stacked evenly, no unaligned edges.
Placed one foot from the wall.

I am the only son in a family with no other sons
To carry the name.
From a son that is a son from a family of
Nine brothers with sons of their own…
That have dozens of girls.

In the middle, I am the fortunate child.
An older sister to test the waters
Of my parents’ patience,
A younger sister to blame at will
For things I do but firmly deny.

I don’t know where I am going.
But I will find my way.
With my need for structure and order.
Looking like my grandfather that I really don’t remember,
With sports to share with my son.
The son in a family with no other sons
To carry the name.
That is the son from a son that is a son from a family of
Nine brothers with sons of their own…
That have dozens of girls.