Dad and Goliath

Paul Merril Hiltz

Nov. 28th, 1926 - May 8th, 1997 

My dad was many things, 

and while he was not always the father

he could have been,

 he had a kind and loving heart, 

a keen and witty mind, 

and 

an uncanny ability to tell a great story.

 

Dad and Goliath

A slingshot,

my father's constant companion,

lovingly whittled from forked branch,

traveled in his pocket

from youth throughout manhood.

...a witness to his life,

the loss of an eye,

a brother-in-law's death

delivered by my father's hand,

and rejection by army recruiters

who had no use

for a one eyed soldier.

 Carried in his pocket

during vows softly spoken,

the birth of eight children,

at bootlegger's 

and Legion Halls,

and on the job,

one night in Cape Breton,

in a boarding house room

cold enough to freeze

 piss in a bucket.

Men hastily stripped down to 

long-johned bodies

rushed under blankets of wool,

only to realize

no one had turned out the light!

None brave enough to venture

back out into the cold,

my one eyed father

 faced Goliath that night.

With a button ripped from his chest

he loaded up his sling...

and eye to glowing eye

took aim...

and

"PING"

turned out the light.