Happy Fathers Day, all you Fathers out there

In honor of Fathers Day I offer a little bit of poetry written by my own dear departed father. From this you may be able to see how I got the attitude I've got. (The photo is of my father and me, way way back in ancient times (I'm the one on the left).)

Your destiny is written in the books upon your shelf,
For History invariably returns unto itself,
     And all the seers and the sages
     Who survived throughout the ages
Have decreed that you will castrate yourself.

History is full of gutless bleeding hearts like you
Who destroyed themselves for lack of gut and thew;
     And the heroes of the past
     Will have their laugh at last,
For they know that you are doomed—that you are through.
The Romans lasted near a thousand years,
An Empire carved with axes, swords, and spears;
     The world trembled at their feet
     And saw their harvests reaped,
Their cities raped and plundered, through their tears.

But they grew rich and spoiled and lazy just like you,
And the men who survive this combo are too few;
     All the jewels on their sandals
     Couldn't stop those howling Vandals,
And they fell like gutless wonders always do.

     Let your wife make your decisions;
     Drink your beer, watch television;
But your children, who are sleeping in their beds
     Will be softer yet than you are,
     And that's taking things too far:
Oh, you've really put a curse upon their heads!

Does your daughter, when she trembles in her sleep,
     Hear rockets roar, and hear the marching feet
Of men who know a craving and a thirst
     For loot of war—and know they'll take her first?

You're as weak as milk, and soft as currant jelly,
So beware the Vandal with the empty belly.
     He will never leap the net to shake your hand;
     He will never try to make you understand;
          He will kick you in the nuts,
          Grease his tank treads with your guts—
     At least you'll do to fertilize his land.

"FREEDOM"—yells the orator, while the banner of the free
     Floats high, serene, in majesty o'er the Penitentiary;
"Peace, Brother!" screams the Flower Child parading through the town,
     "Give us peace, you motherfuckers, or we'll burn the bastard down!"

Deny yourself the exotic fright
That comes when twigs snap in the night
And the known world shrinks to a campfire's light:
     Outside of which the monsters prowl,
     And grizzlies stalk, and lobos howl— 
          They are waiting there, waiting there for you:
          Now what the shit are you gonna do?

Do you dare to seize a burning brand
     And prove just once you are a man     
And seek out this thing that waits for you?
     Dare you? Dare you? No, not you.

Just pile on more wood till the fire leaps high,
     And huddle close, and die, and die
A little more, a little more each day,
     Till the wind that snaps twigs carries you away.