As the students celebrated Father’s Day, the younger ones welcomed that special man in their lives to the college. Watching the children and the happiness and pride on their faces, we saw the mirrors, lest fresh-faced but certainly as joyous, in their father’s faces, and we rememberd E.E. Cummings:
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice
keen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly (over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father’s dream
his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.
