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Harry
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Shirley
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Leftovers


            
by Dan Beams

            


            
My Christmas Gifts


            




            Before too many folks jump to conclusions and start
            doling out credit where none is due, I'll come clean. What a
            fantastic idea, writing about Christmas in March, if for no other
            reason than to avoid the rush, but truthfully and sadly I'm just
            not that clever. While doing a bit of computer housekeeping I
            ran across this poem. Written approximately two years ago it
            is probably the first real poem I ever penned. As I read it again
            today, I admit I'm left unimpressed by the form, but these were
            honest words flowing from deep within my soul and the message
            still speaks clearly and distinctly to me. Perhaps the most important
            quality to good writing is simply recording words whispered by
            the heart, preventing the mind from squelching the song, and
            simply remaining ignorant of all form boundaries.

            
This poem does not contain fictional characters
            or an elaborate plot. It is simply a reflection of a very difficult
            year in my family's life.



            

            
Christmas Gifts

            
Leaves long gone as Christmas draws near;


            it's easy to reflect in life's rear-view mirror. 

            Looking back I realize it started quite rough; 

            the loss of my job seemed particularly tough. 

            But during my time away from the grind 

            I found Jake and I spending quality time. 

            Dad out of work won't stick in his mind; 

            He'll only remember he had a good time. 

            Shooting hoops with old dad for hours on end 

            rushing from school, eager to do it again. 

            We worked on his game, talking trash like the pros, 

            those few hours together meant more than he knows.

            Patience is a virtue you must work on each day, 

            and in a few months a good job came my way.

            
Allie had trouble; anorexia they say. 

            Soon it was obvious she was wasting away. 

            We tried many things; it was all that we knew. 

            Over time the disease and the pain only grew. 

            I vividly remember how she begged me to stay, 

            but the doctor had said she must go right away.

            
I fought back the tears as we walked from
            the room, 

            subdued with feelings of doubt, fear, and gloom. 

            We visited when allowed and spoke on the phone; 

            a week slowly passed before Allie came home. 

            I'm certain her journey was difficult and long 

            but I'm proud of her battle; her spirit stayed strong.

            
As for Beth, she was part of God's plan
            for my life; 

            he brought us together to be man and wife. 

            Almost twenty years passed since the day that we met, 

            as far as I know she's not tired of me yet. 

            She will always have a special place in my heart, 

            we meant what we said, "Til death do us part."

            
This Christmas there's no need for gifts
            under the tree; 

            no search for a tag that is made out to me. 

            God has provided my gifts through the year; 

            my family circle's complete, that's what is dear. 

            It is my wish for each of you reading this day 

            that God blesses you richly in the same special way.

            
 

            
It is not my intent to preach. Choosing
            a particular faith or choosing none is certainly a personal decision.
            Yet I believe all things in life; good and bad happen for a reason.
            Each event specifically timed and orchestrated by an omnipresent
            hand, something reaching far beyond karma.

            
Initially the loss of my job impacted me
            in a very negative fashion. How could I be pleased about having
            been swallowed by the downsizing monster? Perhaps this is why
            I've required contacts or glasses for the last thirty-five years
            (my long distance vision stinks). Circumstances yet to unfold
            would certainly require my full attention. My time out of work
            allowed the development of a closer relationship with my son,
            Jake, and my daughter, Allie. It also provided spare time, during
            school days, for me to discover my love of writing. Even my daughter's
            battle with anorexia appears to have borne productive fruit.
            During her stay at the hospital she developed a close relationship
            with the dietician, and now plans to become a dietician herself
            (specializing in eating disorders).

            
In retrospect, one of the roughest years
            of my life now seems filled with purpose and meaning, simply
            shrouded by my limited field of view. Perhaps the true outcome
            of any event is only dependent upon our persistence in seeking
            the positive. 





            Dan Beams is a 40-year-old
            self-described simple man. He lives in a small town in central
            Illinois, with his wife, Beth, and two children, Allie 15, and
            Jacob 12. By a strange twist of fate, the loss of his job last
            year, led to his love of writing. Although this new passion is
            less than a year old Dan has established a great connection to
            the intrinsic power of the written word. Writing has again impressed
            upon him the fact that the key to a successful life is to possess,
            in great abundance, those things not easily measured.

            
You can read more of Dan's
            poetry at http://poeticjustice-dan.blogspot.com/