for Father’s Day

They say you’re a mosaic
of the people you love.
If that’s true,
then I’m pieces of you,
the doodles you drew for me
on scrap paper and napkins,
the off-key songs we sang
just to make traffic
a little more bearable.

I carry your laugh,
loud and easy.
Your way of talking to strangers
like they’re old friends.
Your big ideas,
your quiet consistency.
You always show up,
even when no one’s watching.

You make being a good man
look so effortless:
a husband who listens,
a son who calls back,
a dad who says,
“you’ve got this,”
even when I don’t believe it yet.

You’re curious.
Creative.
You work hard,
but you also play.
You love deeply,
and you laugh easily.
And when the world gets heavy,
you still make space
for joy.

If I grow up to be
half as kind,
half as steady,
half as alive
as you,
I’ll be proud.

And if I ever find someone
with half your heart,
half your light,
I’ll know I’ve struck gold.

Because loving you
is the easiest thing
I’ve ever learned.
And being your kid
is the best part
of who I am.