Beget Me

My father always asked for my opinion, even when I was too young to have one. My grandfather did great things but died before I got to know him any. My other grandfather lived up on the roof of the house with the pigeons. He rarely came down or talked to anyone but when he did come down he brought candy, so that was okay. I vaguely remember walking down the small narrow streets with my dad to meet my grandmother. My Dad didn’t see her till he was twenty four, but when he did he brought money, so that was okay. My other grandmother lives in a quarter of a mansion that, with the television, is her whole world. My mother, she shared with me, even things I was too young to have shared with me.

I guess that’s why I am the way I am.

~ r