I never got the chance
to say I appreciate you enough.
The things you provided
don’t tell the full story.
Your wisdom —
more valuable than gold,
echoes through late July drives
down Lake Shore.
You showed me the city,
introduced me to men of stature,
told them:
"he’s a great kid."
And I believed it
because you believed it first.
I never got the chance
to appreciate the talks
between Green Bay and Chicago plays,
both of us in recliners —
discussing politics,
discussing life.
You taught me:
use your voice,
stand for what you believe.
Even when I was bull-headed,
you never belittled me.
You challenged me
with that nice nasty way —
planting seeds I wouldn’t recognize
until life made them bloom.
You gave me the blueprint
through your own flaws.
Believed in me
before I knew how to believe in myself.
I watched you treat janitors and executives the same,
your charisma blending into any room —
a modern-day rockstar,
a king without the crown.
You were a humanitarian,
saving lives with conversation,
impacting souls
in ways no scale could measure.
You taught me
the value of two dollars in my pocket.
Patience.
Respect.
Balance.
Art.
You framed my writing like trophies,
made me comfortable in my own skin,
opened doors to worlds
I didn't know existed.
Though your form has shifted,
your voice still speaks
when I’m searching for answers.
I didn’t lose you—
I carry you.
I march on
because you made sure I could.
Bravo, Lorenzo.
Bravo.
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