I look at my son. I see the hair,
The rebellious attitude, the strange set of values,
The unbending stand which says
I want none of your ways, I spit on your values.
Leave me be. And I am sad.
I see a disregard for life. The riots,
The contempt for law, the hatred
Which feeds on itself and grows
To become a way of life.
I see. I hear. I feel. And I am fearful.
If this were but the limit of my vision,
My life, my very being, would have no meaning.
But I see beyond the irritants, the noise, the confusion.
I see a desire. I hear a cry. I feel a need
For truth. And I am hopeful.
I look at my son as through a veil.
I see love – a love torn between what is and what should be.
I see that he as I may stray far afield.
But I see a concern, a searching mind, a troubled heart.
And I am proud.
I hear his voice above his noise and know
His life, not unlike mine, will be weighed in the
Balance of time. And man in his search for truth
Will sift the chaff from the wheat,
Knowing a better world. And I am thankful.