by Bruce Maples
We remember footie pajamas and teenage hoodies.
We remember warm milk at bedtime and warm words in the morning.
We remember first piano lessons,
first marimba lessons,
first driving lessons.
We remember day care at the Seminary,
first grade with pillows and rabbits,
third grade “From a Distance,”
fifth grade drum solos,
seventh grade band concerts.
We remember All-State tryouts, computer games,
percussion ensemble programs, Passport trips,
midnight homework, “breakfast by Ben,”
prom pictures on the lawn,
car parts on the driveway,
proud moments on stage.
But most of all,
We remember the baby we held,
The little boy we snuggled with,
The teenager we wrestled with,
The young man you have become.
Benjamin, the beloved,
Son of our right hand.