The sad part of parenting
is the discipline,
the dicing of honesty,
truth, commitment, perseverance
into bright orange cubed carrots
that i know my son still
won't eat. i pray to God for answers
but i hear only the static
of the TV right now.
i've seen the soft parents,
the ones who try to be
their kids' favorite playmate
of all time with XBOX 360s
who are masters of the quick contract,
the rapid bribe, where every homework assignment
is a diplomatic adventure. i
was a bread dough, kneaded
and beaten down and left to rise
only to be beaten down once more.
today my eyes are burning
as i try to teach my son goodbye
to winter on the piano
and i've walked away from five
extra minutes of yelling and crying
and just general Nagasaki. instead
i'm trying to write this down on paper
and process and re-evaluate another way
to teach practice, dedication,
commitment while being struck
by a pink Valentine airplane.
i know he wants me to engage,
to be non-angry dad again
but i have not eaten dinner yet.
great-grandma sent him a valentine.
he just threw it on the sofa.
and so i repeat, he's six,
he's six, he's six
as if i were praying
a rosary.