Provider

You were 8 years old in 1967

When you became the man of the house

A duty you took on for a year

Your dad ruffled your sweaty blond curls

And told you

“Your mom and your sisters

Will need you

While I am gone.”

Your father would be flying and guiding

Massive metal birds of freedom and destruction

On the other side of the world

“You will have to be

My eyes, ears and hands, son”

He said to you

And, oh, did you take your duties seriously.

Stationed on the Florida panhandle

You would get up early every

Morning and walk to the water

With string, fishing pole, nets and bait in your wagon

You, by God, were going to take care of your women

And you would provide the only way you knew how

You would make sure they had food

You would feed them

You would provide for them as you filled

That little wagon with fish, crabs, crawfish

And other sustenance from the bay

Proudly presenting your daily catch to your mother

At the end of the day

And she’d gratefully and lovingly

Prepare the food you provided

You were 8 years old in 1967

When you became the man of the house

- Julie O'Hara 2023

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Dedicated to Paul Smathers, a dear lifelong friend who in a strange way started me on this journey.