Daddy, Can You Hear Me?

image from warposters.com

Daddy, Can You Hear Me?

“We cannot invade America. There would be a rifle

behind every blade of grass.”

--Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto.

As a poet, I have mentioned divers aspects of my

life. I am comfortable with my past laid naked, an

open book, personal fodder for  poetic musings.

On paper, legally, I was not a bastard. My mother

was married when I was born. After my mother’s

early death at 39, it was revealed that her first

husband was not my real father. After two more

marriages, I piled up three stepfathers. My real

father remained anonymous for 75 years, like

a bottomless pit in my chest. 

On my birthday a year ago, after submitting my

DNA as a lark to Ancestory.com, I was contacted

by a woman who claimed to be related. We met,

and compared our life stories; and shazam, the

aching mystery of who was my father was solved.

There were five sons in her Pellegrino family. My

Father had to be one of her four uncles. The eldest,

Frank, turned out to be my Dad. As a soldier, he met

my mother while passing through Spokane in 1943.

He survived the war, and ironically lived less than 30

miles from me for five decades, until his death in the

90’s. I am 68% Italian, and I now have a new family.

I proudly have a portrait of my father in his paratrooper

uniform hanging over my desk.

My Dad was a war

hero, spending June ’44

fighting in Europe.

Glenn Buttkus

Haibun

Posted over at d'Verse Poets Pub