About 15 years ago, on Monday, Christie received a letter from the OSPA informing her that one of her students scored an honorable mention in their student contest. The next day I received a letter at work informing me that one my students also took an honorable mention. I've been nagging my kids for going on ten years to enter that stupid contest and, lo and behold, one of them finally did. I honestly can't say whether I'm more proud of Wrig or of my student. (When I told that to my student, he said, "Better stick with the family, Mr. Kline. Better stick with the family." Smart kid.)
So this poem was written last Sunday, during and shortly after Wrig's magnificent performance. It is not - directly, anyway - about Christie, though you might like to think it is. Perhaps one of our lurkers might recognize herself. Perhaps not.
Anyway, I'm kind of tired of posting poems about parenting but, honestly, it's all I've got. If you're dying for a poem about nature or springtime or something, let me know.
The Look
March 16, 2008
After ninety minutes of watching other people’s children
mumble and stutter, stumble and mutter, her daughter
finally takes the stage. And as the set pieces
shuffle and rumble, the look creeps across her face:
Features sharpen, eyes narrow, lips purse –
a look painted partly with fear, mostly with hope.
She leans forward in her wobbly chair, ready to leap
to the rescue should her daughter fall, should she fail.
She is not alone in this crowded audience. No one
says it out loud, but we cling to the belief that if we
love our children enough, if we watch them as intently
as we intend, our looks alone should shield them from harm.
So we all wear this look to protect ourselves when
our children attempt their most dangerous feats
of derring-do: barreling breathlessly down the block
on two wheels, leaping into clear, cold water,
or, worst of all, falling in love.
No comments:
Post a Comment