Milliken to Johnstown

Milliken fields and Johnstown streets,
Barefoot summers, dust on our feet.
Ten loud kids around the kitchen table,
Passing stories like they were cable.


Ern was fourth, not first, not last,
Middle son with a working-class past.
Grandpa Walt at the head of the line,
Teaching them all how to walk the straight spine.


From Milliken rows to Johnstown High,
Under that wide Colorado sky,
They grew up fast, they grew up tough,
But love was plenty when the money was rough.
Those small-town days in the family crowd
Made my daddy quiet, kind, and proud.


Hand-me-down coats and hand-me-down dreams,
Fixing what broke with scavenged means.
He learned to share and not complain,
To carry joy inside the strain.


Milliken dirt on his worn-out boots,
Johnstown songs in his family roots.
When he raised me far away,
Those hometown ghosts still lit our way.

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