One day when I was fourteen
watching TV in our basement alone
my father
who could do everything it seemed
design buildings
rebuild car engines
make his own bow arrowheads for hunting deer
and who would die eight years later at the age of fifty
came down the stairs
walked toward me
With one hand he gently grasped my privates for two seconds
and said
This is not what is important
then with one finger
touched my forehead
and said
This is

He slowly walked back up the stairs
leaving me to sit alone
The cords of his great balloon
were already letting him go

He was right