Daddy is a biker
A man of many spokes
Some say he just spins his wheels
He doesn’t care about these folks
He doesn’t need a Harley
A Kawasaki or Yamaha
It’s Raleigh and Schwinn he knows within
They’re the best bikes by far
You may see him in the neighborhood
He’ll wave if he so desires
An awesome sight of flesh and steel
Rolling by on just two tires
From time to time he’ll throw a chain
Get a flat or take a fall
He takes it in stride…he’s that kind of guy
It won’t stop him long at all.
He’s quiet and mysterious
He seeks not fame or thrills
He’s happy just to roam the streets
Of his home in Beverly Hills (FL)
He could tell tales of his travels
Of great hills, big dogs, fast cars
He’s seen a lot just rambling ‘round
The streets of Hollywood stars
These streets they’re filled with faces
Great lives, adventures, memories
He judges not, he knows they’ve got
Their own special family trees
And one day they’ll all recognize
That James Dean nor Marlon Brando
Just couldn’t hold a handle bar
To the one they call Daddy-O!
Written for my father, Ernest W. Giannico, who had Parkinson’s for over 30 years, from his mid-forties. He served as a deputy sheriff in NJ and later moved to Beverly Hills, Citrus County, Florida.
My parent’s home was in a village that has streets named for Hollywood stars from years gone by. Dad we would ride his large-tired, single speed bike around the neighborhood for years, despite his balance issues. He died at age 77 in FL. He was a good and gentle man, very funny, and a great father.
He served in WW ll at overlapping times during the war years along with his two brothers. This in a family with only three sons. Thanks to God that they all lived. He and my mother (Margaret) raised us 4 kids. “Ernie”, the biker, my father, is my hero.