Since we last met a lot of me has travelled. The wanderless topsy-turvy tangles would never be ironed to a pinch perfect pleat.
More playful not less, still silly not stressed. I never lost sight of the challenge, the cheek, the mischief, the mishaps and tumbles.
I’m thankful for the rough stuff, the hardball, The get better, be stronger, fix the tie – just be that guy.
Being junior and saying no to the paper round, to the early rise, to the dreadmill of life. Misunderstood, it did me much good.
I still don’t know if it was a threat or a test for me to be my best. To please you, appease you, one bumbling brother vs. another. Halo perfect other, a spit of his mother.
I stuck out and stepped up not conform nor complied. Sometimes just to see your temperature rise. That frying pan skelpt cut me more than to size.
It never rested easy, anxious anger of fury and fire. Be good like him, straight up, well ironed. Be a believer, not a denier.
It’s the question of choice that always tipped a still settle to a boiling kettle. To rancorous rage. That beetroot fizzer, black-purple and caustic.
I can see your protection as a greater projection. It glows blistering bold above any dejection. Pushing me deeper to be better than this. Almost atheist but together in bliss.
If we can meet again then you’ll medal my choice. Autonomous adventures of goofdom and joy. I’ll show your picture to our cherished wee clan. Who’ll know you as happier, as my wee gran. x