The Old Man
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a teensy tiny baby, sleeping soundly in his mother’s cradled arms. His aunt cooed over the newest member of the family, his fluffy hair, and his amazing blue eyes to his beaming mother, while his father and uncle laughed, smoked cigars, and danced outside in glee.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a two year old boy with thick brown hair, crying in the corner of the bathroom because a new bundle had replaced him in his mother’s arms. He stood up, stomped to his mother and little baby sister, and started to scream, before being scooped up by his father, who spanked his behind. His father carried him outside (so he wouldn’t wake the baby) and yelled, “Never, ever hurt your mother or you little sister; you have to be nice- do you hear me?” The little boy just cried.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was six years old on a Sunday morning, whining about how his clothes were too tight and he didn’t want to go sit in that stuffy white room listening to some boring man talk about God. “Going to Mass is an extraordinary privilege and you will sit in that cry room and behave,” his mother lectured. “But Kathy just runs around the whole time and when I do that I get in trouble!” “Kathy’s little- she can run around if she wants to. But you’re big and you need to stay sitting. It’s only an hour,” his father explained with a sharp look that meant he was serious. And that was that.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a ten year old boy, sitting at his desk in school. His hair was combed, his shirt was tucked in, and his shoes were clean. The paper in front of him which was supposed to be filled with math problems, had an elephant being created in the corner. “Robert,” the old grey teacher called from the front of the room, “Your blue eyes are a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they are truly brilliant, but a curse because everyone can tell when you’re not looking at what you’re supposed to be looking at. Isn’t that right, Robert?” The boy’s cheeks turned a deep red as the other students giggled. “Isn’t that right?” the teacher repeated. “Yes ma’am,” he whispered, and glued his eyes to the front of the room.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was fourteen years old, glowing with the gifts of the Holy Spirit. He had just been confirmed, and he felt as though he could walk on water. A girl wearing a pale pink dress walked up to him, “Robert, you’re eyes just got like 10 shades bluer! It looks like you stole a bit of the sky, mixed it with some ocean water, and stuck it in the places where your eyes should have gone!” She giggled and skipped away, her blonde hair bouncing behind her. “Um, thanks,” Robert replied, but she was already out of earshot.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a nineteen year old man, studying to become a doctor. He worked incredibly hard, and never stopped. His little sister had told him that he was going to get so sick of studying to become a doctor that he would have to go see a doctor! He just had replied with a smile and a soft laugh. It seemed like all he did was work, whether it be at school, at home, or in his dad’s furniture store. But it was all going to be worth it, he just had that feeling.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was twenty four years old, wearing a stiff black suit, a black tie, and hard black shoes. The funeral was so sad. He read a short story he wrote about his loving, wonderful, caring mother, who helped him all the time. It was very difficult to read to himself, let alone an audience of crying loved ones. God helped him through it. From that day on, his father was always a little off, like half of him had died, leaving the other half to fend for itself.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a thirty year old man sitting on his couch in his apartment, discussing his girlfriend’s newest painting that was hanging on his wall. She (Lauren) didn’t like how she mixed the colors, but he loved every bit of her artwork. She was very talented at cooking, painting, and sewing. She was a new character in his life, but he truly loved her.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was thirty four years old, gazing into the deep blue eyes of his baby girl. His little sister, crying with joy, mentioned that the baby’s eyes were the exact combination of his eyes and Lauren’s. His wife loved him and their new baby, Emily. He went outside with Kathy’s husband and sang and danced and smoked cigars. All was good.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a forty five year old father, walking Emily, his eleven year old, Maria, his seven year old, and Jonathon, his five year old, through their kid friendly neighborhood. “Daddy! Look at me – look at me!” Jonathon shouted as he sped down the street on his little red bike with training wheels, “I’m going so fast!”
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was fifty two years old, walking up to Communion with his family of five. He just smiled as he watched his beautiful children and wife close their eyes in such reverence and receive the Body of Christ. The girls wore skirts and blouses, while the men of the family wore slacks and ties. His hair was white and thin now, but he was still as young as ever.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a sixty one year old sponsor, with his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. His little sister and her husband were crying in the pews in the church as Kevin professes his faith. Kevin has his uncle’s eyes. Isn’t it wonderful when you can look in someone else’s eyes and see yourself?
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
But now he is 85 years old. He walks with a cane, but he is just as young as ever.
He won’t always be an old man. He will get older, pass away, and live forever in heaven with his Father. His great grandchildren will only hear stories of him, but his eyes will live on for many generations.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a teensy tiny baby, sleeping soundly in his mother’s cradled arms. His aunt cooed over the newest member of the family, his fluffy hair, and his amazing blue eyes to his beaming mother, while his father and uncle laughed, smoked cigars, and danced outside in glee.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a two year old boy with thick brown hair, crying in the corner of the bathroom because a new bundle had replaced him in his mother’s arms. He stood up, stomped to his mother and little baby sister, and started to scream, before being scooped up by his father, who spanked his behind. His father carried him outside (so he wouldn’t wake the baby) and yelled, “Never, ever hurt your mother or you little sister; you have to be nice- do you hear me?” The little boy just cried.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was six years old on a Sunday morning, whining about how his clothes were too tight and he didn’t want to go sit in that stuffy white room listening to some boring man talk about God. “Going to Mass is an extraordinary privilege and you will sit in that cry room and behave,” his mother lectured. “But Kathy just runs around the whole time and when I do that I get in trouble!” “Kathy’s little- she can run around if she wants to. But you’re big and you need to stay sitting. It’s only an hour,” his father explained with a sharp look that meant he was serious. And that was that.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a ten year old boy, sitting at his desk in school. His hair was combed, his shirt was tucked in, and his shoes were clean. The paper in front of him which was supposed to be filled with math problems, had an elephant being created in the corner. “Robert,” the old grey teacher called from the front of the room, “Your blue eyes are a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they are truly brilliant, but a curse because everyone can tell when you’re not looking at what you’re supposed to be looking at. Isn’t that right, Robert?” The boy’s cheeks turned a deep red as the other students giggled. “Isn’t that right?” the teacher repeated. “Yes ma’am,” he whispered, and glued his eyes to the front of the room.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was fourteen years old, glowing with the gifts of the Holy Spirit. He had just been confirmed, and he felt as though he could walk on water. A girl wearing a pale pink dress walked up to him, “Robert, you’re eyes just got like 10 shades bluer! It looks like you stole a bit of the sky, mixed it with some ocean water, and stuck it in the places where your eyes should have gone!” She giggled and skipped away, her blonde hair bouncing behind her. “Um, thanks,” Robert replied, but she was already out of earshot.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a nineteen year old man, studying to become a doctor. He worked incredibly hard, and never stopped. His little sister had told him that he was going to get so sick of studying to become a doctor that he would have to go see a doctor! He just had replied with a smile and a soft laugh. It seemed like all he did was work, whether it be at school, at home, or in his dad’s furniture store. But it was all going to be worth it, he just had that feeling.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was twenty four years old, wearing a stiff black suit, a black tie, and hard black shoes. The funeral was so sad. He read a short story he wrote about his loving, wonderful, caring mother, who helped him all the time. It was very difficult to read to himself, let alone an audience of crying loved ones. God helped him through it. From that day on, his father was always a little off, like half of him had died, leaving the other half to fend for itself.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a thirty year old man sitting on his couch in his apartment, discussing his girlfriend’s newest painting that was hanging on his wall. She (Lauren) didn’t like how she mixed the colors, but he loved every bit of her artwork. She was very talented at cooking, painting, and sewing. She was a new character in his life, but he truly loved her.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was thirty four years old, gazing into the deep blue eyes of his baby girl. His little sister, crying with joy, mentioned that the baby’s eyes were the exact combination of his eyes and Lauren’s. His wife loved him and their new baby, Emily. He went outside with Kathy’s husband and sang and danced and smoked cigars. All was good.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a forty five year old father, walking Emily, his eleven year old, Maria, his seven year old, and Jonathon, his five year old, through their kid friendly neighborhood. “Daddy! Look at me – look at me!” Jonathon shouted as he sped down the street on his little red bike with training wheels, “I’m going so fast!”
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was fifty two years old, walking up to Communion with his family of five. He just smiled as he watched his beautiful children and wife close their eyes in such reverence and receive the Body of Christ. The girls wore skirts and blouses, while the men of the family wore slacks and ties. His hair was white and thin now, but he was still as young as ever.
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
Once, he was a sixty one year old sponsor, with his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. His little sister and her husband were crying in the pews in the church as Kevin professes his faith. Kevin has his uncle’s eyes. Isn’t it wonderful when you can look in someone else’s eyes and see yourself?
The old man, with his wrinkled hands,
short white hair, and twinkling blue eyes,
wasn’t always an old man.
But now he is 85 years old. He walks with a cane, but he is just as young as ever.
He won’t always be an old man. He will get older, pass away, and live forever in heaven with his Father. His great grandchildren will only hear stories of him, but his eyes will live on for many generations.
3 comments:
that poem is ah-maze-in!!!! u need to show it to Sister!!! if u ever get a chance, look up on itunes or wherever, the song MARY'S SONG/ TAYLOR SWIFT. it reminds me of that song.
Meredith :-)
It passed the tear jerker test with your mama. Simply beautiful! You are a treasure...
Lily, this is wonderful. Very, very well-done. I love you.
Post a Comment