Outside the Box

When I was just a baby,

My dad was unorthodox.

The man volunteered to change diapers.

He was outside the box. 

When Dyan and I became swimmers,

He stood near the starting blocks

And cheered us on and learned our sport.

He was outside the box.

When I lost my first baby, 

My dad initiated talks.

His words were extremely comforting.

He was outside the box. 

When we went to the movies,

The Godfathers or the Hitchcocks.

He embarrassed us with his seat choices.

He was outside the box.

Hotel managers were baffled by him.

There was no one he couldn't outfox.

He negotiated much lower room rates.

He was outside the box.

The older he got the cooler he got. 

What a paradox! 

“Netflix and chill” in his 80s.

He was outside the box.

A fall put him into the hospital, 

Amnesia was one of his roadblocks.

But he recovered his memory fully.

He was outside the box.

He loved his granddaughter’s shoes.

Ali told him they were Crocs.

If he still could have walked, he’d have gotten some. 

He was outside the box.

He ate bread, fruit, and nuts with his grandson, 

And asked Mark what was in his lunchbox.

“You look like me, so you’re handsome,” he said.

He was outside the box. 

A cremation box holds his ashes.

How I wish I could turn back the clocks!

But I still hear his voice,

And I still see his face.  

John Taylor is outside the box.