PICTURE THIS
I never thought about my dad (much)
at holidays like Easter or Christmas or Thanksgiving
when my grandparent’s house overflowed
with aunts and uncles and cousins
and loud family noises ricocheted
throughout the house like a parade of auditory hugs.
But birthdays
usually a quieter time
always made me wish for him
wondering if I blew out all the candles
if there might be a present, a card
some acknowledgment
of his connection to my birth.
He saw me only once
still a baby in a crib
and then no more
but an uncle from his side of the family
came to ask about me
my mother said she showed him
my school picture
my hair pulled back with plastic barrettes
my white shirt with the Peter Pan collar
and I like to imagine him studying it
memorizing my face so he could describe it
to my dad.
Last year
I found my father’s death notice
and I saw that uncle’s name.
I wondered if he remembered asking
about me
and did he carry back stories to my dad
about me
or did he just tuck them into some secret place of his own
knowing that my father
didn’t want to know?
@copyright Susan Taylor Brown 2010
All Rights Reserved
Tanita Says 🙂
These poems are making space in me to grieve for the fathers I wanted, and for the father I have. It’s hard to explain how the words linger – my reaction is very much like it was reading Hugging the Rock: Read. Tear up. Go away. Come back. Read again…
Re: Tanita Says 🙂
Tanita, thank you so much. There is a ton of grieving going on as I am writing these. And I’m surprised at how very fast they’re coming out. I think, I hope, I will feel I have purged and healed somewhat by the time this is done.
so sad
Your placement of
(much)
with the brackets and the last two lines are especially efective. Well done, Susan.
Re: so sad
Thank you.
Oh Susan. The pain here is so sharp. And the poem so well written. You are using the craft so carefully, so beautifully.
Thank you, Andi. I’m writing these quickly and not polishing but I think the rawness is okay at this stage. I appreciate your kind words of support.
I am going through the same sort of thing although the only difference is my father is still alive. Although birthdays come and go and I am sure he does not even remember which day it is on. I don’t want to know how often my father thinks of me ( if ever) as I know that he only ever thought and probably still does think of me as a burden, a disappointment.
Nothing I ever did or ever will do will be good enough for him. So you know what? I try and tell myself it is his loss not mine. Him having missed out on my life not the other way around.
The saddest thing to know is that he could pass my boys in the street and they him and they would not even know. I used to want them to get to know him and now I think it best that they don’t because it would only cause them more grief that they don’t need in their lives having been rejected by their own father and so the cycle continues. I just hope I have instilled in my boys some values so that one day that cycle may be ended and they can enjoy a family of their own one day.
I guess we just have to learn to be grateful for the things we have got not for the things we wish we had.
– Anne McKenna
I’m so sorry for your pain, Anne but I think you have the right attitude and you have done right by your boys. It’s all we can try to do.
Whether or not your uncle shared the details of your picture, he took that info for himself. And that’s an acknowledgment of you that can’t be denied.
Thank you, Tracy.
PICTURE THIS
A child so afraid of life
I never learned to live
Not knowing about love
I never learned to give
I walked out of the darkness
Into the light of day ahead
Encouraged myself to feel loved
Tuning out to what others said
They said I was worthless
That does not mean naught
For they didn’t know the real me
Despite all the battles I fought
I finally started to live
The life where I could be free
I didn’t want them to see
The one and only me
Anne McKenna