I have my father’s walk,
A slow, deliberate, long-gaited stride.
I have my mother’s smile, her voice, compassion.
I can’t yet see myself in my children,
I wonder if it is always that way.
I remember as a teen the day I actually could match my father stride-for-stride,
My smaller feet dwarfed by his size 13 shoes.
I remember thinking I was a grownup then.
I was wrong, of course.
I had no clue what being an adult was.
Yes, I did.
I yearn to go back to those days,
Perhaps I was not carefree but I was taken care of.
Knowing my parents were in charge,
I felt safe, protected.
Now I am a parent in charge,
I must be ready.
My children try to match my steps, still unable to.
I yearn for the day they can.
I hope I will be beside them when they are old enough to mirror my stride.
Not just beside them in spirit.
That’s not enough.
I want more.
When they think they are grownups
I want to be there too.