my daddy, the dreamcatcher

Tonight was a cold night, my fingers
littered with needlepricks.
It turned out, my first reaction being
"I want to go home"
wasn't just being silly,
wasn't the easy way out,
but it was, in fact, what I wanted.

On the way home, I spoke to my father.
He told me about his flashbacks,
nightmares,
form the Falklands, and I realised.
Nothing I face now could ever
outshine that war.
My father was a brave man, and
I wish I could match up to him.

He didn't believe in dreamcatchers. 
But one day, a man he knew 
offered to make him a tattoo.
It was a dreamcatcher, and inside
was a bear's paw.

I tried to listen, but then I thought about
how brave he had been,
how small a thing this fight was to hurt me,
and how proud I was
that I hadn't cried.
When I thought that, I started to.
Dad pulled over, so he could hug me.
He promised, we'd be okay.

He finished his story, about how
he got the tattoo, and
afterwards, he never dreamt.
He said it was better to give up
the good dreams, to spare him from the bad.
My father is a brave man,
but in this instance, I think he was a coward.

He told me: You have to remember
I love you. Wherever you are,
and wherever I am, no matter what has happened,
you can knock on my door,
and I will open it for you.
I wanted you to know the same, because
the bad times have never given me nightmares,
but the good times have given me
such sweet dreams.