Ushered to crisp linen-backed folding chairs
reserved just for family, front row seats,
emptied hangar now filled not with planes
but men in uniform at attention to my fore,
flags standing tall in a line behind them.
Rehearsed Navy band to the side patiently waits
for traditional pomp and circumstance to commence
this military ceremony honoring their station's
beloved Commanding Officer, my father.
We sit so straight as trained to do, feeling warm
eyes burning into the backs of our necks,
my own still burning from last night's shame.
"You represent me and will be watched by the crowd,
remember that and behave accordingly," he warned.
The Captain smartly strides his way to the stage in full
dress whites as per proclaimed uniform of the day,
shoulders squared, head erect, his cover starched, placed
with visor exactly parallel and two inches above brows.
He begins his speech full of praise for his troops,
politically correct in noting not his own importance.
Chest weighted down, multiple rows of colorful
medals betray his futile attempts at humility.
Sharp salutes exchanged in respect as yet another
award presentation concludes for this highly admired man,
this man who just the night before yet again showed at my
door, who ordered me to his bed and did things to this nine
year old for which I'm quite sure no medals are earned.
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