My father, he is not quite ninety,
He’s got some years to go,
His age is eighty-seven,
Sometimes it doesn’t show.
He was two years older than my mother,
It’s a fact that doesn’t end,
They spent forty-years together,
They were lovers until the end.
My mother, sadly passed away,
In the beginning of her sixties,
In fact, at sixty-one.
He still gets very angry,
Thinking about her missing all the fun.
The same place where he met my mother,
The same night, probably,
There was another woman there,
She was too late,
That would have been his date.
Well, I don’t know if I would have been here,
Me and my siblings too,
If he had met this other girl,
On that night, the moon so blue.
After my mother passed away,
He bought a house in Moose Lake,
The challenge he would take,
To make the house look like it did,
In the beginning when it was built.
The realtor introduced him to,
Someone who could give an opinion,
An angel from God above.
Of work that needed to be done
To create this work of love!
The woman had grown up in this home,
Her parents raised her well,
My father and her spent time together,
I am thankful that he wasn’t alone.
Going back to the beginning,
To where it all began
His parents, his dad a builder,
His mom, a homemaker.
He grew up on a farm,
In the middle of Minnesota,
From a place we call nowhere
To say where it was specifically,
You probably do not care.
He didn’t finish high school,
He headed to the navy,
He especially was fond of their,
Potatoes, bread and gravy!
It sounds like a Commercial,
You’re right, and it was beef,
And very real.
He thought himself on top of the world,
Whenever he ate this meal,
He used to get carded,
When going to the bars,
People thought him a celebrity,
You know – one of the movie stars.
Paul Newman and my father,
They sort of look alike,
They look very similar,
In looks, mannerisms and the like.
My father, when he met my mom,
He really thought that he
Was perhaps my mother’s biggest fan,
She looked like Ingrid Bergmann.
He used to go roller-skating,
In a town they call Moose Lake.
One night, I think they call it fate
My mother she was from Duluth,
I am lucky she skated on that date.
Yes, the two of them,
They met at the roller rink
He saw her and he was very bold,
“Hey Ingrid’ was what she was told.
She apparently thought him handsome,
And thankfully, she said yes,
To all the things that make one a mother,
To a father — who is still the best!