Jonny, I neglected to read you your birthday poem from the airport. Sorry about that (I know you guys are probably tired of them, but I find it hard to break with tradition).
This is the child beloved, born in Africa,
Born in a doctor's office twenty-one years ago.
When your mother sighed in the pain of giving birth
A dozen other mothers and mothers-to-be,
Outside, sighed in sympathy,
One with your mother, the mothers of Africa,
One with all the mothers of the earth.
When I, proud father, carried you out
And held you up, they cheered.
The sound still echoes in my ear.
And oh, beloved son, now 21,
As I did then, I wish that I could hold you up again
To the waiting crowd, and say this is the son beloved,
And hear them cheer.
This poetry is posted by Bob's daughter, Heather...and on rare occasions by Bob himself. Please note that most poetry gets added retroactively. This can no doubt be confusing for readers, but is better for historical accuracy!
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