The Blue Tutu
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Sometimes despite your best intentions, things go all wrong.
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I would reach them. I would hold and comfort them, but they stay a foot away.
Out of my reach.
It is a bitter distance.
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Too little sleep. Three hours last night. Five the night before. Five more ten hour work days ahead before the next break. My eyes are hoarding sand and little metal fragments in their sockets, and they won't turn them loose.
I need to wring out my spine.
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Our daughter left a note (calling us by our FIRST NAMES!) explaining that she understood that she didn't like being around us and we didn't like being around her, and that from now on we'd maintain minimal contact until she was out from under our thumb, etc.
She is fourteen.
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I love this little portrait of her.
"Nel mezzo di camin de nostra vita..."
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I am not insane or depressed.
I am not.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 6:53 PM
7 Comments:
ahh, scott. the things they can say and do. if you were to sit down with all the rest of us, though, you would weep at what they have done to us as well, and at how love finally triumphs over it all. it does, brother. it truly does. jim
Amen, Jim.
I am grateful beyond words for the way love moves in my life. The people who bring it in, and those who bear it away.
Hearing from you is good medicine.
Astonished.
Thanks, David.
14 year olds are from hell. But they're also usually in it as well.
Lemme get this straigt:
You're a husband, a cop,
a poet, and a father...
and you're neither insane
nor depressed?
(smile)
Be proud. She sounds strong. Christ, she sounds like she knows who the hell she is and what she wants. And she's only fourteen.
Be very proud.
Yeah, I couldn't be more proud of her. Shit, she knew what she wanted and didn't want right from the time she popped out of her mother.
I never have to worry about her getting pushed around.
yrs-
td
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