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Today, tomorrow, every day,
when the sun is in full-glow,
when it is two feet deep of snow,
I look to you and I always know
that you are there for me,
and when I do leave your sight
I know that you still look in my direction,
and you think about me whatever I am doing,
and wherever I go.

I have vivid memories of you, of us,
when I was a child I remember you pulling me on sled,
I remember you trying to catch me as I ran wild,
I remember you carrying me in your arms
and putting me to bed;
I remember us looking at each other on more than one occasion
with the biggest and the widest of smiles,
I remember us looking up at the sky
and watching the airplanes of the nearby airport fly overhead.

When I was a kid I was always asking questions,
and you always had the answer I was looking for;
when I was growing up, and even now,
your words, thoughts, and influence,
send my imagination off on a tangent,
and leave me wanting to know and to hear more.

Your face, your voice, your spirit, your heart,
is like no one else’s and is unmistakably you-
everyone who knows you only knows
and speaks good things about you,
because you always put everyone else before yourself,
and when people look into your eyes
they see an entire ocean that is so full and deep,
and the most beautiful and the bluest of blue.

I am the luckiest man in the world to be your son,
I have always been the luckiest boy on Earth
to look at you and to look up to you-
because, to me, you are more than just my Dad,
and today is not just another day.
I have looked to you all my life,
and you have given me more than anyone has ever had.
I am forever standing in-awe of you
and of your shadow, and I will always love you
and see you as who I want to be when I do truly grow up,
and my one and only hero, today, tomorrow, everyday,
especially today, as I join with sons and daughters
from all around the world to celebrate you
and to give you the gift of my love, my respect, my time,
and me, today on Father’s Day.

On a morning walk down the city high-streets,
passed countless people, passed shops,
stores, restaurants of all names,
I am stopped in my tracks instantly when I see
a Golden Gunslinger reading a book
while sitting at the foot of a tree.
I’m not sure how long he had been there,
I’m not sure what he was thinking,
but when I looked at him looking down at his book,
to me, the gunslinger looked
as if he didn’t have a care in the world,
and it seemed as if to the gunslinger
the rest of the world could carry on their way
because he was lost in thought, in state,
and frozen in time, but like a performer at a carnival,
the gunslinger sat with a tin pot
just to the left of his right boot
asking politely of his generous passer-by
for a token of interest, fascination, respect,
and a thought to show that they care.

I sat in-awe of the gunslinger on a bench nearby,
and I even took a picture-
I felt like I was looking back in time,
or as if the gunslinger had been transported to the future,
to our present-
and as I sat looking at him, the sun shone brightly on him,
and made him glow even more golden,
and he looked even more amazing than he did before,
and even the sky above looked even more blue.
I thought long and hard about approaching the gunslinger
and putting some money in his pot,
and I wondered what he would do if I did-
would he lower his book? Draw his gun and take a shot?

The incredible living-statue of the gunslinger
that mesmerised me, painted head to toe in gold,
in himself was a work of art-
he was so brilliant to behold,
because as soon as I saw him I was instantly transported
back in time to my childhood,
and my fantasies of wanting to be a cowboy.
The Golden Gunslinger was like a living photograph
of a time of adventure and a reminder of the heroes
and out-laws that fill the stories of the Wild West
that once was in America that for so many
still holds a special place in their heart;
The Golden Gunslinger reminded me of how care-free
and amzing it is to a child, or someone who acts on and follows
their instinctual passions-
whether you are a man, or a woman, a girl, or a boy.

As time caught up with me,
even though in all the time I was sitting there looking at
the gunslinger he did not move an inch,
I realised that it was time for me to move on.
I decided to approach the gunslinger and give him a coin
from my pocket to repay him for his time,
his inspiration, his generosity, and his golden spirit,
and even as I got closer and closer
he still didn’t look up or look away from his book
and didn’t for a second flinch;
and then, as soon as my £2 coin hit the rest of the coins
in his golden pot and made a sound,
The Golden Gunslinger suddenly came alive
and he looked up at me-
he lifted his left hand to touch the rim of his Stetson,
he looked right into my eyes, and I saw him smile
without him having to move his lips at all,
and he bowed his head slightly,
and it was in that moment that I smiled too
in appreciation, and I too began to shine as the sun shone.

As I stepped back the gunslinger reverted back
to the pose in which I first saw him,
and he immediately went back to his prefered-posture
of reading his book, at-ease against the base of his tree;
while I turned to my right and continued to walk down the high-street-
I didn’t look back, but I knew and I was so glad to have met him,
to have given him my time, and for him to have given his time to me
and to everyone who saw him, because he reminded me
in lots of ways of myself, and he was obviously someone
of great patience and a deep-thinker.
I promised myself to capture this moment that would never come again
in as much detail and with as much meaning as I could,
and I also promised that I would never forget
The Golden Gunslinger.

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A little boy jumping in puddles,
a little girl kicking and tossing
a collection of leaves on the ground-
the joy in their faces,
the pure excitement in their bodies,
is exhilarating to see and to witness;
just as it is brilliant to see a child
be encouraged and compelled to be excited
by their parents, and not told off
for doing what they are doing-
being a kid.

A child has a right to be free more than anybody
in discovering the answer to ‘If I do this, what happens next?’-
they might learn a valuable lesson
that will stay with them their entire life,
and depending on how their parents respond to them
at particular and important moments
will be the difference between them aspiring to be more,
see more, and experience more,
and walking the line of hope and trouble,
and knowing the value of something and someone;
whether it be an acquaintance, a friend, a gift,
a house, a sunrise, a rest, a cup of coffee,
a hand-hold, a look, a relationship-
just as they will always hopefully know
the true value of a hard-earned dollar, or a pound.

One of the best moments to witness
is when a child hears music for the first time,
and it instantly makes them dance, move,
and sing along to the lyrics
and replicate with complete accuracy all the right
choreography and dance-moves, words,
and the inflections of the artist
who is the author of the song they are hearing,
and it truly moves them like no other form
of communication of any kind.

Children love to express their profound joy
and overwhelming passion for life in every way-
whenever they can, wherever they can, with whoever they are with,
and they never hold back, unless they are stopped in their tracks
by something they have never seen before,
and then the expression that you see on their face
is absolutely priceless:
it’s like a mix of wonder and confusion,
bliss and captivation;
something new to a child, like a new song,
is like magic to them, and they don’t mind listening to a song,
or seeing something, over and over again.

They say that we lose much as we grow up, get older,
and sometimes we forget the pure unadulterated enjoyment
and the thrill of exposure of our inner-self
and our untempered emotions for all the world to see-
because we are so worried about what other people
will think and who society, for all its good,
tells us we aught to be-
a child doesn’t have that,
a child doesn’t need that,
a child should have boundaries,
but not those that will stop them
from doing from doing the impossible,
from overcoming and clearing the fences
that can threaten to restrict their metamorphosis too much.
A child doesn’t need to be told what they can’t do,
they need to be shown and encouraged in the things they can do
and will do;
a child can grow up anywhere
and as long as they have what they need when they need it,
a child can and will change the world-
it happens everyday, it has happened everyday of human history-
whether that child is born into poverty,
doesn’t have all that every other child they go to school with has;
whether that child is deaf, physically or mentally challenged, or blind-
any and every child can be something amazing and someone spectacular,
as long as they are surrounded by love and support,
and while they are a child they are allowed to be free,
discover, and be who they want to be,
and can make every moment of their lives
an important part of their play time.

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Not every Father can be a Dad,
not every Dad can be a Father,
not every son can have a father,
or a dad to look up to,
not every son, no other son,
has a hero, a role-model, a giant,
a great, honest, kind-hearted, and caring,
man as their Father, like I do-
and that is why I am so lucky to have a Dad
who is as special as you.

You have always been there to hold my hand,
you have always been there to pick me up,
you have always been there to guide me home
like a plane coming in to land,
you have always been there for me,
and I have always looked at you and said to myself
‘that is and you are the man who I want to be
when I grow up’.

There is only one of each of us in this world, in this life,
and there can only be love and respect between two people
if it is proven time and again that what binds them
has been present since birth and will always be there.
I have always known that you and I were more
than just father and son;
I have always felt that you and I were like the Earth to the Sun,
and when I look at you I feel like I am looking at the best
and the most incredible man I have ever known in my entire life,
who has given me everything he could and more,
and who I sometimes look at when you are sleeping,
just like you used to look at me when I was a boy,
and I marvel in wonder at who you are,
and I remember all the places we have been to together,
and all the things we have shared.

I remember you teaching me how to ride a bike.
I remember you teaching me how to fire an arrow with a bow.
I remember you and I putting together a home-made glider
and spending an entire Saturday afternoon watching the glider
soar into the air and then return to Earth,
and then return to the air by your hand-
just as my imagination too became sky-bound and took flight.

I will never forget what you have taught me,
what you do for me every day,
and every moment with you has been the greatest gift a son,
a boy, a man, anyone and I have ever had.
I wouldn’t be the man I am, I wouldn’t have done what I have done,
nor seen what I have seen, or been where I have been, without you,
and that is why I am the luckiest son there has ever been,
because you are my Dad.

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As I look out my bedroom window,
as I watch the wind displace the leaves
as it gusts through the branches of the trees
and makes telephone cables
and power-lines sway from side to side with every blow,
as it seems as if every leaf is now well on the way
to changing colour for the season,
I look down to the street below
and I see a little boy riding his bike
on the pavement outside my house
wearing a big coat and a bobble-hat;
and instantly I feel a wave of something come over me,
as if the winds of time were blowing in unison
with the winds of the world outside, and taking me back
to a time, to an autumn day like this one, when I was a kid-
a time when I loved to play outside with my friends,
and my sister Clare,
and play a ‘catch me if you can-type of game’ called “tag”
in which I never minded being the one who was “it”.

I used to love riding my bike;
I used to love exploring the great place where I lived;
I used to love looking out my window
on a dark, rainy night, and being in awe of the sound of thunder,
and energized by the sight of a lightning-strike;
I used to love playing hide and seek-
and I swear no one could ever find me,
nor think of the right place where I was hid.

I had a very happy childhood;
I had everything a child could ever want;
I had so much love bestowed upon me,
and I was taught so many lessons and I learned so many skills
from my Mum and Dad- from appreciating the value
of the smallest of things, and the briefest of moments,
to the importance of hard work,
and knowing the best way to cut wood.

I remember smiling a lot when I was a child,
I remember laughing, creating, watching,
constantly asking questions, and learning from everyone,
I remember times when I used to sit quietly,
I remember times when I used to run wild,
I remember having so much fun.
I remember the good times, and the bad;
I remember the people I knew and who knew me who just suddenly died,
I remember the times when I had to say goodbye.
I remember all the times when I felt so happy
I thought my heart was going to explode;
I remember the tears that came after a fall,
and the times when I didn’t know what was going on,
and I felt sad.

The world has changed.
I have slowly, but surely, grown up.
The home I have known all my life
feels like a picture that is constantly being reframed.
I am outwardly very different from the boy I was-
from my shoe-size, to my likes and dislikes,
to my hair colour, and hair cut.
Inside I am still the same-
I feel and I know that, even now.
Inside I am under no illusion in my belief
that in everything I do, and to everyone I meet, I make a difference;
I don’t always know why, in what way, or how,
but I do feel, and I have always felt,
like everything that I was doing had a purpose and meant something-
even if I was writing a story, or painting a picture,
even as a child I knew that there was so much more to be seen
than could ever be seen, and that no matter the dark clouds
that sometimes swirled around above your head
there would always be something to have hope for,
that there is always a silver-lining to everything,
and that there would one day be a great,
beautiful, and bright future.

Looking at my own reflection in the glass of my window,
as the sun shines on my face,
I look into my own eyes-
the eyes that have seen thousands of sunrises,
the eyes that have seen so much beauty, hope, and inspiration,
in their time, and which have imprinted on them images
that I will take to the grave,
of sights and faces that nothing could ever erase.
I look at my own reflection,
and I see the boy that I was,
and the joy and the hope in his eyes, in my eyes;
I look at my own reflection, and I see the man who I am,
the boy who I am always going to be,
who still lives in the place, the house, the home,
with the memories he treasures,
and will always remember and return to,
in the middle house of three, on Fair field rise.

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A
Boy
Called
David
Eats
Fruit
Gingerly
Happy
In
Jubilation
Knowing
Life’s
Meaning
Never
Obligates
People
Questioning
Reason
See
The
Universal
Variables
With
Xenial
Youthful
Zeal

When I was a boy, and all throughout my teenage years,
I was an artist, an athlete, an adventurer,
who knew nothing about the world
other than to never be held back by my fears.
I used to run, cycle, explore, for hours at a time
through my homes countryside open-air-
racing down lanes and over fields,
as the winds of my childhood blew through my curly blond hair.

I remember a summer when my friends and I decided to build a time machine-
I told my friends that it would be easy:
“Doc Brown made one out of a car”,
and I described how easy that had been-
so we outfitted a go-cart with a modified sweet-box, some wires,
a watch, and a calculator- all to my exacting specifications;
and then my friends and I all took turns on our “time machine”,
each time travelling to a myriad of historic and futuristic destinations.

As an adult I have had this recurring thought and daydream for many years
of going back to my “blond hair days”,
sitting down on a bench with my younger self,
and simply talking to myself, and telling myself a story:
a tale of tears and sadness, but also one of energy, inspiration,
love, imagination, and cherished glory.
I would tell myself how one day the world is going to change,
but that everything is going to be alright;
and that magic is real, but it doesn’t always present itself
in colours of black and white.
I would tell myself to remember these times in my life,
because these are the days that I will return to often,
and which strengthen my worlds bonds.
What a time I had, what days they were,
when I was blond!

A little boy with his Dad looking up at The Moon through his telescope;
a young man, standing in the darkness, gazing up
at the wonder of the night-sky- filled with awe, touched by inspiration,
possessed by hope.

A little boy turns to his Dad, and asks:
Dad, how does the moon stay up in the sky?
a young man looks up at the glowing orb of the night
and he sees the face of his father in his minds eye.

A little boy looks into the eyes of his Dad, and his Dad replies:
The moon will always be there, son- you may not always see its face,
but the light that it emits will never die.

A young man, bathed in moon light, engulfed in the peace and silence
of a star-filled night,
looks through his telescope at the ancient companion of Earth
that is the satellite of wonder, the moon of white;
a little boy looks through his telescope,
as his Dad puts a hand on his shoulder as he too looks up at the sky-
the little boy continues to look on, as his imagination begins to fly!

A young man looks up at the moon
and at the infinite light-scape that he lives under;
a little boy takes his Dads hand, looking up at his face he asks:
will the moon look any bigger when I’m older, I wonder?

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