hand me downs

my love for the American Dream-
shape of, the muscle car-
was well worn and deeply seated in his soul
by the time it got shared with me
by my father.

and both my grandmothers
carefully unwrapped and placed a love
of classic country music-
Twitty and Willie and Williams-
in my arms for safekeeping.

while I never got a chance to see my
grandfather at it in his prime,
his athleticism, love of sports,
and tales of his appearance on a local TV program
to showcase his skills as a kingpin
certainly fostered in my heart the emotional ties I have
for baseball and the bowling alley.

Hot sunny days that cried out for relief from
the summer heat and led my mother to, children in tow,
adventure to the library,
impressed upon all three of us a
love of literature, of books
that is more than evident to
anyone who ventures near our bookshelves.

but perhaps most of all,
this example of never-ending love
predicated by my grandparents first,
who have loved and honored that commitment
for more than 70 years;
and carried on by my mom and dad,
who have been working at eternal bliss
for more than 47 years now-
these examples have impressed upon my
fragile and fallible heart
what love is, what it
should be,
irrespective of the fact
i have failed to achieve such a thing myself,
the desire for such
commitment and passion still
fits me like an old, well worn sweater.

But today,
in a moment of serendipitous chance,
my love for language and
poetry and
the way the word can paint a picture that
can be shared with the world and
equally appreciated from a thousand different
points of view,
has been handed over to my nine year old daughter
to be enjoyed and cherished
again and again
over and over
until one day,
in the not so distant future that will swallow us both up
before we know it,
she gives it away to someone she loves equally
to the way this daddy loves his little girl.