Unspoken Love

There is nothing more innocent than love from a child. Children come into this world with no expectations other than to be loved. No, they do not understand the meaning of love, but they feel it every time a gentle hand holds or caresses their tender flesh. In the poem “Those Winter Sundays,” by Robert Hayden, the boy speaks of how his father shows his love by the physical things he does for his family. The dedication and commitment of hard work through the week the boy’s father does to provide for them is unrecognized by outsiders. “with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze.” (3-5). It was not until the boy became a man that he realized just how much his father loved him without ever saying it. Somehow humans have an unspoken connection that can translate into love without ever uttering a single phrase. One simple gesture can make all the difference in the world to an unsuspecting individual.
The father, a blue collar worker, with hands that show drudgery aches of winter, manages to care for the well-being of his family by waking early to warm the frightful chill that looms in the air. The loyalty of a father and caregiver never end, “who had driven out the cold.” (11). There are days I would wake up on my day off and wish I did not have responsibilities that day. Like everyone else in the world, life continues on whether we want it to or not. The boy’s father knew he had no choice but to take care of what needed taking care of. “Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold.” (1-2).
As the bitterness winter chill subsided from room to room, “When the rooms were warm, he’d call.” (7). The boy not knowing or caring that his father stoked the fire that warmed the air around him, reluctantly placed his feet on the floor fighting the tired burden of morning. The