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In Memory Of
James Adam Minahan
(February 12,
1928—October 29, 2008)
I Called Him “Dad”
A tiny boy sat
in a chair,
With sad, distant, longing stare.
A life of hardship and of pain
Seemed to burden that little frame.
Before his
time he went to war,
Hoping that life would afford him more.
In the rubble of that tortured ground,
A precious German “Rose” he found.
Returning to
his own home land
Things were different than he had planned.
Jobs were seldom and pressures grew;
The family went to six from two.
The drink
became a haunting fact.
The hands of time could not turn back,
The liver went his end was near
And now he faced his greatest fear.
A call came in
that changed his fate;
He prayed to God, 'twas not too late.
The drink no more could hold it’s sway,
The Son of God became his way.
The love his
heart had never found,
Began to flow to those around.
Words that he could never say,
“I love you!” stumbled out one day.
All that he
could never change,
God’s love and mercy rearranged.
With all the good and all the bad,
This is the man that I called “Dad.”
And now as all
his prayers would end:
"In the name of the Father, and
Of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Amen."
by Norman J
Minahan |