Paw-Paw Told Me
By Lou Blodgett
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On my seventh birthday,
Paw-Paw called me to his side.
He handed me a shiny dime.
My eyes then opened wide.
He said:
“Don’t spend it all in one place,”
Can’t forget the tender look upon his face.
That symbolic dime wasn’t nothing anyway, but,
I haven’t forgotten what my Paw-Paw had to say.
“Son,” he said.
“Don’t overbear and be a jerk.
‘cause itt’l come back to you.
If assigned a task, don’t you shirk,
work ‘till the day is through.
Learn and practice all your math,
or they’ll take you for a bath.
And wear a helmet when you ride about.
Or all that math might get knocked out.
And, the most important thing, my child,
is to tie your laces ‘Bunny Style’.”
And Paw-Paw showed me.
He showed me:
“Bunny needs some ears
to analyze his fears.
He already has some eyes,
and here is how it ties.
Cross the laces, slide one under.
Tug the two not quite asunder.
Form two loops and tie again,
over his fuzzy bunny brain.”
“Now, son,” he said.
“Now you have a hard-defensive shell.
With it, you can go through hell.
It counters evil and disease.
Along with your Dip-Tet ser-ies.
Itt’l raise your credit score and your SAT’s.
It’s three-month protection against fleas.
Your hair will shine, your pits won’t stink,
your freckles will fade to a ruddy sheen.
People will think you’re not much of a dink.
And, around you, pit bulls won’t be mean.
Itt’l even help some with your appearance,
‘cause, son,
if you were for sale, you’d be in clearance.”
Then, with the promise of multiple beers,
Maw-Maw took Paw-Paw away.
But, I’ll tell you now, throughout the years,
I never forgot what my Paw-Paw had to say.
Bunny needs some ears
to analyze his fears.
He already has some eyes,
and here is how it ties.
Cross the laces, slide one under.
Tug the two not quite asunder.
Form two loops and tie again,
over his fuzzy bunny brain.
I took what Paw-Paw said to mind,
when my laces I entwined.
My feet looked like a pair of critters.
Walking proud, I ignored the titters.
As I grew ever older,
I tied my laces even bolder.
I was a brave shoelaces tie-er.
By them I raised my self ever higher.
And when he had to go to Velcro stay.
I still lived by Paw-Paw’s edict.
He was living the same old way,
it’s just that his hands were sick.
When my Paw-Paw passed away
we formed a line and passed his bier.
I spied his shoes; it verified my fear.
His shoes were tied by some half-wit,
although it was right there in Paw-Paw’s obit:
“Samuel Green worked as a diesel machinist,
and was a devoted NASCAR enthusiast.
He lived his life with the nickname ‘Sammy’,
worked hard, and was a good husband to Pammy.
He gave much and didn’t hoard his money.
And each of his shoes looked like a bunny.”
I stepped closer, some understood my motivation.
The hall began to buzz.
I reached to his shoes, and began relacin’
Cousin Doug raised a fist, but he always overdoes.
A solemn hush fell upon the place.
The righteous silence appropriate to Bunny Style.
I looked aside to my Paw-Paw’s face.
There I saw his habitual smile.
Bunny needs some ears
to analyze his fears.
He already has some eyes,
and here is how it ties.
Cross the laces, slide one under.
Tug the two not quite asunder.
Form two loops and tie again,
over his fuzzy bunny brain.
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