fathers and sons

I dropped off my son at football camp today;

He was just fifteen - half boy, not yet a man.



As we said goodbye, neither of us had much to say.

"Good luck, have fun, be all that you can."

"Thanks," he said, and turned away.



Long, long ago, I too once was young.

My father too, his job done, said good-bye.

I too with nary a glance back, to see the old man standing where,

I find myself.

Why do fathers do the things they do?