Miss You, Dad
by Morning Star
When I was small,
you stood so tall—
my proud, kind dad,
with silver buttons bright,
and the Queen’s crown shining in the light.
Shiny black shoes,
a flat hat to match your feet—
you were the man on the street,
but to me,
you were the whole world.
We’d play with your radio while you slept,
a man called Bob would crackle through,
asking what we were cooking up—
we’d giggle,
and wait for you.
At night, we’d race to the window
to catch the flash of your blue lights.
As you came ‘round the corner,
I’d beam with pride—
That’s my dad!
My hero in a uniform,
with arms strong enough to carry
both the weight of the world
and his little girl.
At birthdays, you'd tell the tale—
Rindercella and her sugly isters—
and laughter would roll
from the bellies of children
who knew you were safe,
not scary.
The policeman on the street?
That was my dad.
I remember summer walks,
your hand wrapped around mine.
We’d climb hills that felt like mountains
to my little legs—
but you’d cheer me on
until the sky opened wide,
and wild horses met our eyes.
You lifted me to ride one once,
and I cried,
“I’m scared I’ll fall!”
You smiled:
Then come off. Don’t be afraid—I’ll catch you.
And I knew you would.
You always did.
I remember the sunsets in Borth by the sea—
your size-11 feet beside me,
your big hand holding mine.
Just me and my dad.
There weren’t many kids
as lucky as me.
You were the only man
I ever truly trusted.
When Mum went away,
we tried to patch up broken hearts.
I saw your tears.
I felt your ache.
Too young to understand,
I only knew
you were always there for me.
But then, one day…
you weren’t.
The day my angel was baptised,
you didn’t come.
You said it was her—
your ex-wife—
you couldn’t bear
to be near her stare,
that she filled the air
like a ghost you couldn’t shake.
Maybe I should’ve said,
Not today—today I see my dad.
But I didn’t.
And maybe…
you didn’t want to come.
Maybe you’d moved on—
a new family, a new dawn—
and I didn’t belong
in that picture anymore.
I’ve cried so many tears
these past six years.
Dad, I love you—
please hold those words close.
I know you love me too,
even from afar.
They love you too,
though they don’t always show—
I’ve seen them sit alone
with tears quietly flowing.
Please, don’t turn your back.
Can’t we try again?
She left you,
but I never did.
You left me.
And now I carry
the same ache you did,
crying for someone
who once made me feel safe.
Dad—
your grandson Michael is nearly a man,
Steven’s eleven,
half his life you’ve missed.
They’re growing too fast
for kisses now,
but their hearts
still have a space for you.
Little Jack—
you’ve never met him.
But oh, he looks like you.
Eyes so blue,
a smile that would melt your heart.
And Amy?
She’s just like me
when I was small.
I remember how my little arms
would stretch out to reach you.
I know your arms
must be reaching too.
So please—
hear me.
See me.
Catch me.
I need a hug from those big, strong arms
that held me safe
when Mum was gone.
Someone,
hold me now.
Take away this ache.
I just want to see my dad again.
I love you.