My Dad

My dad's a pretty good old scout --

The best in all the world -- no doubt.

Of course he frowns sometimes when I

Suggest the things I'd like to buy;

He fumbles at his slender roll

And feels that life is rather droll,

With fashions changing overnight,

New gowns to buy, with spangles bright;

New shoes, new hat, new everything --

New car to trail the Joneses in --

I guess it takes a lot of tin!

Yes, dad's a pretty good old chap.

Sometimes I plop down on his lap

And bribe him with a soft embrace;

Then you should see his smiling face

And hear the pounding of his heart,

By jove, I think sometimes he'd part

With his right hand, to get for me

The score of things I want and see.

To keep his courage up, I know

He whistles -- for I've seen him go

Light hearted up and down the street,

With willing hands, but lagging feet.

In divers worlds of joy and strife,

My father seems to live his life;

A world to do his thinking in,

When bank reserves are wearing thin

And budget files are 'bout to burst

With bills that come due on the first.

You wouldn't know it, though, at night,

When he comes home with face all bright

This world you'd think, was made for fun.

He doesn't tell you when he's there

That he's a fugitive from care.

Today's his birthday -- gee, I'm glad;

I wonder what to give my dad.

His tie is faded -- maybe that;

Or could he use a better hat?

Now let me see . . his soles are thin.

Perhaps a pair of shoes would win

the smile that speaks his love for me.

Yes, that's the thing . . Or could it be

He'd rather have a pleasant book?

He's sitting there -- I'll have a look.

Ah, Now I know the thing above

All else -- he only wants my love!

(Copyright, 1940)