NOTE FROM LB
All in all, I think I’ve gotten pretty good at the writer thing, although there’s still a long way for me to go. What I’m really hoping, though, is that someday I’ll get the hang of this being-a-parent business.
A Father-Daughter Chat
by Larry Brody
“Know what I think of you, Dad, really think?”
My twenty-five year old daughter said to me.
“No, what do you think of me, sweetie, really think?” I replied.
“All you talk about is yourself,” she said.
“All you write about is you.
Your feelings, your desires, your needs,” my daughter said.
“All I know is me, my desires, my needs,” I said.
“Then I think you’re very self-centered,
Even selfish,” she said.
“My parents are dead,” I said to my daughter with a sigh.
“I didn’t know them.
Not their feelings, their desires, their needs.
And certainly not what I wanted to know more
Than anything. Their dreams.
They didn’t share,” I went on. “All they gave me
Was some ‘Mommy’ stuff, with a very few
‘Daddys’ thrown in, and those are just masks we can all wear.”
Another sigh escaped me. Still, I plunged on,
Determined to give her a real answer.
“My parents are dead,” I said again,
“And I didn’t know them, don’t know them, never will.
Because of that, I may never know me.
By not knowing their why I may never learn mine. Because of that,
I often feel very lonely, and very confused. And
I don’t want you to feel the same way.
I want you to have more.
I want to give you a gift I never received.
The gift of the man I really am.”
“There you go again,” my beautiful little girl said.
And it was her turn to sigh.
Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.