On the tailgate of the truck parked next to our car was a bright, yellow ‘#1 Dad’. I pointed and shook my head, ‘Well, that’s just incorrect.’
Ian looked at me and frowned, because it’s a foregone conclusion. ‘That’s right, Daddy. You’re one dad!’
Lost Childhood
By: David Ignatow
How was it possible, I a father
yet a child of my father? I
grew panicky and thought
of running away but knew
I would be scorned for it
by my father. I stood
and listened to myself
being called Dad.
How ridiculous it sounded,
but in front of me, asking
for attention—how could I,
a child, ignore this child’s plea?
I lifted him into my arms
and hugged him as I would have
wanted my father to hug me,
and it was as though satisfying
my own lost childhood.
