Happy Father's Day

Well, it is Father's Day. Congratulations to those millions (billions?!) of men around the world who have, each in their own way, been fathers (and if you are not actively involved in the lives of your children, shame on you).

My father has played a major role in my development. I love him. He's a great guy with a grace in dealing with people, even strangers, that taught me a lot about dealing with the world. He taught me my love of literature and mythology. He has a poster from one of my readings hanging on the wall of his den. My books are on his bookshelf. My Mom may not be sure what to make of me or my poetry, Dad just accepts the fact that people buy my books and show up for my readings and signings.

My poem "Autumnal Memory" is about the effect he always had on the girls I dated...I'd bring one home and as we left, she'd always turn to me and say "I love your Dad".

Autumnal Memory

the smell of burning leaves
always reminds me of my father.
a good man. honest and kind.
all my girlfriends who ever met him
fell in love with him.
but I saw him first.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

He's 83 years old now, but he is still outside every day the weather allows, weeding his garden, pruning his roses, driving around the yard in his Ladybug-shaped yard tractor. He takes more naps, but that's okay. He always was a napper. He used to volunteer to put me and my older brother Robert down for our naps, so he'd have an excuse to grab a quick catnap (often with us still awake, slipping out of bed and getting into mischief).

So, here's to Dads, everywhere. I'm not a great one, though my intentions are good and my skills getting stronger, and I respect any guy with the backbone to actually do the job.