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His eyes are so determined, it's grasp and pull and tug; Before he's done my baby son trans-navigates the rug. His hand is reaching skyward to just below my knee; My pants clinched tight, with all his might, I cheer the champ I see As he pulls himself up. He pesters me to take my tools and his training wheels remove; Five years old and tough-guy bold, he's got some things to prove. He wobbles left, he wobbles right, he's thrilled at last to ride; Three close calls and then he falls, and now I'm filled with pride As he pulls himself up. The banners line the high school track, the parents fill the stands; A relay race is taking place, batons are changing hands. He dashes toward the finish line, collapses at the tape; Forget the fall, he gave his all and doesn't mind the scrape As he pulls himself up. We fathers gather wisdom until the day we die; Despite our smarts, our aging hearts oft lose the will to try. We tire when our efforts fail, but battles CAN be won! We gain this hope that helps us cope when e'er we watch a son As he pulls himself up.
Wes Stephenson

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