Fatherhood

I watched as my son leapt up in the air,

Arms skilfully following the oil-weathered basketball

As it coasted in an arch just over my extended reach

Into the slightly misshapen, flaking hoop.

Game.

His bright hazel eyes looked up at me (but no so far as before)

Through his thick brown mop of young hair.

An uninhibited smile stretched full, revealing his boyish dimples,

But a man’s voice, cracked with elation, reaches my ears. 

I won Dad.

Could this possibly be true, so soon after he was just an idea in our heads?

My wooden joints and sweat-soaked hair seemed to agree.

A smile (maybe as genuine as his) rose to my lips from the depths of my heart

At this man with my eyes, standing on his own for the first time.

Yes, you really did.