the poetrysheet
whimsy, subversion, bowling
Number 493, April 30,
2004
Ah, finally, the
beginning
“In the name of the merciful and compassionate God.
Say, ‘O you misbelievers! I do not serve what you serve; nor will
you serve what I serve; nor will I serve what you serve; nor will you serve
what I serve—you have your religion, and I have my religion!”
—Mohammed,
“The Chapter of Misbelievers,” Koran
Self-recrimination
Family
counseling didn’t seem all it was racked up to be. Instead of a
accusation-pocked battlefield of marks and remarks, the session progressed
smoothly, from the moment I walked in.
I had
been a little nervous about making our first session all day, thinking, of
course, that I was the bad guy, the evil, male Mommy Dearest who was the root and cause of all the problems any
of us had encountered. After all, hadn’t I been the one with the temper? The
one whose emotional nature was stormy? Hadn’t I been foolish and foolhardy?
Arbitrary and hotheaded?
Certainly,
I was ready to take my licks. Be the butt-boy for the sake of good, decent
family relations. I made my mind up on this one quickly. It was not a time to
be right, particularly if I was going to be dead right. It was a time to lay
down, to be run over without a whimper, without being a sacrificial lamb.
Nope. I
was going to sit down in that office, whatever that entailed, and be a dad with
a mom and a kid and a therapist. I was going to let mom run roughshod over me.
I could remember plenty of times when I done the same to her, maybe. So if I
could keep this in mind, then I could sit there and be the bad guy, fess up to
all the wrongs, real or imagined, and just take it.
And
when it came to the kid, I could do that, too. I can remember losing my head,
yelling and screaming at the poor babe, becoming larger than life, when what
she needed was someone with a cool head and a firm grip on the ways of
guidance. Sure, I could take being called an awful father. I could take that.
But
when I arrived, the mom and the kid were happy to see me. We read magazines and
joked in a sterile but comfy small waiting room in a nondescript suburban
office building. I made a joke about wanting to see the Jungian Analyst down
the hall, which no one got. (“Maybe I can unload a coupla archetypes,” I said.
“I’m feeling a little overburdened this week.”)
When
the therapist appeared, she was a perfectly friendly woman who seemed to
suspect nothing. She read the forms and talked a little with us about this and that,
and when she got down to business, I found myself opening up and being nice and
friendly right back.
In
fact, I kicked back in that recliner in her office, with the mom and the kid in
the recliners next to me, and had a grand time. We listened to each other and
listened to the kid, and listened to the woman. I found myself wondering when
she was going to turn on the soft music.
Afterward,
mom and kid and me all hugged and said goodbye in the lobby of the nondescript
suburban office building. Mom and kid got into mom’s car and drove away. I
climbed into my truck and turned on my favorite recording of “Moon River.”
I was
smiling when I went through the green light at the corner and headed home. Some
woman in a smoky little car swerved in front of me and then fell back behind.
She flipped me off through her windshield and was flashing her brights on and
off. I didn’t wonder what I’d done wrong. I just took for granted I had done
something awful to piss her off.
And I
was just glad I was back in a world I knew.
analysis of discussion
shameful jobs
all the bad things he has done
the things that have come out
the ones that remain hidden
accusations, recriminations
changes over time
make a man who he might have been
yesterday
warn the public—
intelligence has nothing to do
with the values
one grows up with
can instead become a loaded weapon
that bit of nonsense
a man batters another
downright bloody by
The Riverfront Reading Series, The
Writers Place, 3607 Pennsylvania, 816-560-1796
Friday, April 30, 8 p.m.
Richard Burgin , novelist and editor of Boulevard
Magazine and the 2002 and 2003 fiction award winners of Boulevard 's Emerging Writers
Contest, Maija Rhee Devine and Phyllis Galley Westover.
Shari Elf at "The Living
Room," Center for Spiritual Living, 1306 W. 39th St.
Friday, April 30, 8 p.m.
“The Living Room” is Kansas City’s
extemporaneous and nutty entertainment/talk show! Featuring
songwriter/performer Shari Elf, Don Richard in his brief return from Jane
Eyre and
Urinetown on Broadway, Teri Wilder of 101 The Fox, Nancy Nail of Quality
Hill Playhouse, tenor Matthew Wilson, child violinist Alexa Birt, and several
other TLR favorites. Reservations recommended at http://cslkc.org/tlr
(via PayPal) or by ringing Renee Friday during business hours at 816-931-2395.
send
short poems, short thoughts, fictions, or nonfictions to the poetrysheet, where whimsy, subversion, and giving mommy our best
shot are our highest values
submit/identity/www.patrickdobson.com/red hot
links
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material copyright poetrysheet and
personally recommended press, unless otherwise arranged with the authors. for
information, contact rev. patrick dobson,
1132 e. 65th st., kansas city, mo, 64131, 816-333-7303.
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