the first time I was called a bastard
I was quite young
Dad took me with him
in his heavy red boat
He handed me the oars and told me
how to position them to row well
OAR ELSE!
"Row!" he told me
I tried hard
But the oars were too big for me
So was the boat
Being too small didn't count for anything
Dad grabbed an oar
and flailed
away at me
as I cowered in the stern
as far away from him as I could get
But he failed
to make me bigger and stronger
that day
He railed
at me
For the first time
he called me a bastard
I was a bastard
because I was too small
to row his big boat
with its big oars.
Dad took me with him
in his heavy red boat
He handed me the oars and told me
how to position them to row well
OAR ELSE!
"Row!" he told me
I tried hard
But the oars were too big for me
So was the boat
Being too small didn't count for anything
Dad grabbed an oar
and flailed
away at me
as I cowered in the stern
as far away from him as I could get
But he failed
to make me bigger and stronger
that day
He railed
at me
For the first time
he called me a bastard
I was a bastard
because I was too small
to row his big boat
with its big oars.
posted by Al Johnson at 9:32 AM
2 Comments:
You have a wonderful talent for stringing words together such that they evoke powerful emotions. Anger, betrayal, fear, loneliness - all these and more are palpable in your written lines.
I feel for you. And I just want you to know I'm rooting for you and wishing you all the best in overcoming your life's challenges.
Keep writing! Take care. c",)
I read this the other day and it just broke my heart. No child ever deserves to be treated that way.
I'm thinking of starting a "Survivors Poetry" blog carnival. Think you might be interested in participating? Let me know when you get a chance.
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