In the relationship

between my father and me,

I spent most of my life

in my “terrible two’s.”

My dad would say: “It’s day”

and I would say “It’s night.”

My constant rebellion

frustrated and hurt him.

When my parents argued—

and they argued a lot—

I always took my mother’s side

and that, too, caused him pain.

I felt I could never be

the son he so wanted,

and I probably blamed him

for my own shortcomings.

He tried his best to be

what he thought a dad should be,

but neither of us knew

exactly what that was.

He knew that I was gay

about the time I did,

but he never questioned

until I finally told.

And in the brief three years

that were all that remained

of his far-too-short life,

we at last became friends.

I had never doubted

that my dad loved me,

and he died with no doubt

that I returned his love.

But only since his death

have I slowly realized

that in his eyes and heart

       I was, in truth, his sun. 

 --Dorien Grey