When I was in fifth grade I wrote a series of stories about a squirrel and knew that some day I would grow up and be a famous author. I went on to study creative writing in college where I realized my dreams far outstripped my abilities. I wrote lots of bad poetry and even worst fiction. However, as time has gone by I’ve learned to appreciate those young attempts at creativity for what they were – honest yearnings. I stretched beyond my own ability to communicate.

Recently, my father sent me one of those early poems and ironically said “I think you wrote this when you were 14”. No Daddy, I wrote it when I was 21. Although emotionally I was probably closer to 14. This poem will not win me any awards or accolades, but I did think it was a sweet tribute to my own father. With sheer terror in my heart I have decided to share it with my gentle readers (if you are not gentle, please don’t read).

Father

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions
And if it is “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there”
Math is just shorthand for English
And science is applicable to your everyday life
What are you going to do with that English Degree?
There are girls boys date and there are girls boys marry
Here’s 5 dollars who ever heard of a poor princess?
Don’t tell me how to operate the VCR, I’m an engineer
Who doesn’t know the name of Grant’s horse?
I believe I said NO, what didn’t you understand?
Go ask your mother
Spouting feminist dribble again? -Good
What have you learned in school? What do you know?
Actions speak louder than words
Mother — she’ll be just fine — let her go