snert
Silver $$ Contributor
This is a poem my daughter published on her blog.
She is now married and living in OK with her husband and our grandchild. This poem talks about our daily routine as she grew up in NY. We homeschooled. I was a 3-11 cop. My wife a 6Am to 5PM teacher in public school. Our older two kids were old enough to oversee siblings for a couple hours in the afternoon, after we did school in the morning. Often a tutor would cover a few of those hours.
Yet there was always the goodbye. The reality of my work was always present.
Every day I drove away I prayed God would cover them and bring them into adulthood in grace and maturity.
I think He did.
The back door clicked shut behind him
And signaled the stampede
That mad scrambling of little feet
With a loud cry, "Battle Stations!"
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Up the ramp and through the kitchen,
Hear the pop, pop, pop of the gravel driveway;
Quick, quick, don't let him drive away
Without him knowing how we love him.
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Cold, nose-smudged windows
Waving goodbye for the night--
Or was it goodbye forever? It might
Be the last; who really knows?
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Four little kids putting on a brave face;
Alone for the afternoon,
Waiting in the dining room,
We'll be waving as Dad drove away.
Faces covered in ketchup and fries,
Dad driving that green old-lady car;
Eleven p.m. really isn't that far--
This might be the last time we wave goodbye.
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Every day, siblings in hand,
We'd charge down the hallway
To see Dad drive down the driveway...
Until slowly battle stations went unmanned.
One by one, the stampede faded;
The oldest with a wave, the middle with a nod,
The cop soon left with non to applaud.
A meaningful tradition now was traded.
Goodbyes now degraded to a "bye, love you."
With scant a look up from a project;
A little too absorbed to even connect--
Battle stations had been pooh-poohed.
When did farewells cease to hold meaning?
When did taking some time,
Holding, cherishing, and saying goodbye,
Start being just a little thing?
I've blown off too many battle stations,
Missed out too many times,
Until Grandpa's hearse pulled out,
Too late to say goodbye.
So now I hug a little longer
And put down the phone,
Hope and hope that you'll come safely home
Goodbyes only make me stronger.
So with a smile and a wave,
I'll man that battle station,
Love now my only inspiration;
I'll be waving as you drive away.
She is now married and living in OK with her husband and our grandchild. This poem talks about our daily routine as she grew up in NY. We homeschooled. I was a 3-11 cop. My wife a 6Am to 5PM teacher in public school. Our older two kids were old enough to oversee siblings for a couple hours in the afternoon, after we did school in the morning. Often a tutor would cover a few of those hours.
Yet there was always the goodbye. The reality of my work was always present.
Every day I drove away I prayed God would cover them and bring them into adulthood in grace and maturity.
I think He did.
Battle Stations: I'll Be Waving as You Drive Away
The back door clicked shut behind him
And signaled the stampede
That mad scrambling of little feet
With a loud cry, "Battle Stations!"
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Up the ramp and through the kitchen,
Hear the pop, pop, pop of the gravel driveway;
Quick, quick, don't let him drive away
Without him knowing how we love him.
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Cold, nose-smudged windows
Waving goodbye for the night--
Or was it goodbye forever? It might
Be the last; who really knows?
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Four little kids putting on a brave face;
Alone for the afternoon,
Waiting in the dining room,
We'll be waving as Dad drove away.
Faces covered in ketchup and fries,
Dad driving that green old-lady car;
Eleven p.m. really isn't that far--
This might be the last time we wave goodbye.
We'll be waving as you drive away.
Every day, siblings in hand,
We'd charge down the hallway
To see Dad drive down the driveway...
Until slowly battle stations went unmanned.
One by one, the stampede faded;
The oldest with a wave, the middle with a nod,
The cop soon left with non to applaud.
A meaningful tradition now was traded.
Goodbyes now degraded to a "bye, love you."
With scant a look up from a project;
A little too absorbed to even connect--
Battle stations had been pooh-poohed.
When did farewells cease to hold meaning?
When did taking some time,
Holding, cherishing, and saying goodbye,
Start being just a little thing?
I've blown off too many battle stations,
Missed out too many times,
Until Grandpa's hearse pulled out,
Too late to say goodbye.
So now I hug a little longer
And put down the phone,
Hope and hope that you'll come safely home
Goodbyes only make me stronger.
So with a smile and a wave,
I'll man that battle station,
Love now my only inspiration;
I'll be waving as you drive away.
