Some fellers’ pas seem awful old,
An’ talk like they was going to scold,
An’ their hair’s all gone, an’ they never grin
Or holler an’ shout when they come in.
They don’t get out in the street an’ play
The way mine does at the close of day.
It’s just as funny as it can be,
But my pa doesn’t seem old to me.
He doesn’t look old, an’ he throws a ball,
Just like a boy, with the curves an’ all,
An’ he knows the kids by their first names, too,
An’ says they’re just like the boys he knew.
Some of the fellers are scared plumb stiff
When their fathers are near 'em an’ act as if
They wuz doing wrong if they made a noise,
But my pa seems to be one of the boys.
It’s funny, but, somehow, I never can
Think of my pa as a grown-up man.
He doesn’t frown an’ he doesn’t scold,
An’ he doesn’t act as though he wuz old.
He talks of the things I want to know,
Just like one of our gang, an’ so,
Whenever we’re out, it seems that he
Is more like a pal than a pa to me.
Other works by Edgar Albert Guest...
