I showed my student a photograph 
 of you, Dad, and asked, 
 “What do you see?”
 He studied the old black-and-white:
 you in a well-cut summer suit, 
 hands on your lap, 
 light socks and polished shoes—
 and said, “I see a man who wants to have fun”—
 not the dutiful school principal I knew,
 but hands 
 that might spring in glad greeting 
 from your lap, 
 lightness in your feet, 
 shoes burnished 
 so bright 
 they begged to dance.