The Man Down The Hall

Today is my dad's birthday. We were just with him last week, and I got to talk to him about what he wanted as a gift. He gave one of his typical answers (normally it is "for all my children to be happy" or "for a hug" or something like that.) His response this time was, "I just want a poem."

Well, Dad, don't mind if I do...

The Man Down The Hall

By Coco

Every day of my life,

there was something new:

a different concern,

something stressful to do.

I would take down my worry from off of the wall,

stuff it into my backpack, and walk out to the hall.

And every day I came across a most peculiar sight:

a man sitting down, studying, with all of his might.

his ankle was crossed, so it sat on his knee

where he’d balance his book, while he looked up at me.

“Good morning dear daughter! You are just awesome”

then he’d set down his scriptures, and his arms? He would cross ‘em.

As I turned down the stairs, my eyes daily would stray

to that man down the hall, beginning to pray.

And that is how it was day after day,

right before he would work and I would go play.

How much work that he did, I hadn’t a clue.

After all, I had learned, that’s just what dads do.

As time went on, my life’s chaos did grow

along with worry, concern, and a yearning to know.

Every path seemed to be laid with a hundred decisions:

friends, morals, career, marriage, college, and missions.

No answers would be in the books on my shelf.

How would I do this all by myself?

I would look down the hall and there the answer would sit,

with his glasses hung low and his sweater of knit.

So I’d open my heart and my scriptures too,

as I had seen the man down the hall do.

And because of his constant presence and care,

I realized He too must always be there.

So I talked to Him more, and He helped me to see

that I wasn’t alone; He was always with me.

And I realized that He must love me too.

After all, I had learned, that’s just what dads do.

When I wanted to know just who I should be,

I looked up to Him hoping He would listen to me.

I was sure that He was, so I prayed more determined to know.

Because I’d spent years of him listening and helping me grow.

Sometimes it hurt, picking out all my thoughts and my worry

to sew them together and wrap them around me.

And I wondered how much was the worth of a soul.

Not just any old specimen but my very own.

But I never got far in this bleak train of thought

because my divine nature was something I had been taught

by that dear constant man that lived down the hall,

who daily gave everything, so he could give me it all.

I never could doubt there was a God and a Plan

because of the way that he lived, that down-the-hall man.

And I realized that He wants me to have it all too.

After all, I had learned, that’s just what dads do.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you very much.