It isn't the first time I heard it, but after hearing it this morning, it has just stuck.
Carry on my wayward son
It reminds me of my dad. The salt of the earth, smelly from working outside, rough-edged man. It is the kind of man that I will always respect over most other men. Something about a man, being just a man. Rough, hairy, smelly... these are not compliments in most of my girlfriends' eyes. They want their men to be smell pretty, and be hairless. I like my men with chest hair, and scruff. To smell like honest work when they come in from outside. Grit under their fingernails and calloused hands make me sit up straight and take notice.
There'll be peace when you are done
These are also the men who have knucklebusters and don't tell you. Kill spiders right next to you and don't tell you. Will kill anyone who hurts you, but won't tell you how they feel easily. You can only tell in the long hugs. The random texts asking when you will visit again. The sporatic phone calls asking for help in ideas about what to get your mom for her birthday. The tight grip on your hand as you get spun during a dance on New Year's.
Lay your weary head to rest
These men do the hard work. The dangerous work. The kind that will kill you, maim you, torment you. Whether fighting to bring food to our tables, fighting for our country, or fighting to uphold our laws, they will not give up easily.
Don't you cry no more
So as I sit with this song rolling through my head, I savor the salt of the earth men in my life. And give thanks at their continued good healthy.