I need to speak with Tevye
and tell him I know now
how our children get to be
so tall, how I don’t remember

growing older — when did they?
I see my son, Liam, stunning
in his tux, on his way to dancing
all night at the prom, his time

of SpongeBob and Barney
a fleeting decade ago. I wish
I could sit with Tevye and
ask him what to do now

to be a father to my son
in his beginning manhood years
certain to be laden with happiness
and tears. But maybe wise

old Tevye would just shrug
his milkman’s shoulders,
pour us both some vodka,
raise his glass and say

the only words a parent can say:
“L'chaim, to life!” and wherever
it takes our children
between sunrise and sunset.


This poem first appeared in the NJCTE Journal.
Used here with permission.