Not All Fathers Are Dads Poem by Francie Lynch
Not All Fathers Are Dads
We lived
In our Goodwill bathing suits
During our arduous summer isolation
From school and friends.
They were shiny, silk-like.
The scrotums were always
A size too big,
And so, sagged,
Exposing us like water snakes
Raising heads from darkness.
We sat in the back seat of the Rambler
Like three monkeys,
Towels wrapped sarong-like.
The heated air rose from the hood
As visible reminders.
This was Mammy's idea,
Hoping he would feel obliged
After many hours of hoeing and weeding.
Just an hour at the Beach.
I longed for the sound of slowly crushed stone
Beneath the tires as we backed out.
He emerged from the house,
Walked to the garage,
Never glancing our way,
A half hour later we got out.
But I saw, I heard, and now I speak.
Some fathers are never Dads.
The last line of your poem: Some fathers are never Dads should have been the title of this poem. As compared to: All fathers aren't Dads. Life has many faces and many colours; as such, you've written a nice poem with the muse of what you went through. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Thanks for the suggestion. I followed up, and changed the title, adding the word, Not.
But I saw, I heard, and now I speak. Some fathers are never Dads. Relationship problems, how some cannot communicate, and love and show love....... a very fine poem. tony
ahhh...that heartsick gulf between a child's hopes and the painful dissipation of those hopes at the will of an unsympathetic parent. I lived such memories, too, and what amazes me is how resilient the hearts of children are. That they will keep on hoping. That they will keep the spark of optimism alive for another day. You have so artistically and poignantly captured that in this piece. Another gem.
Fathers are subject to endless demands and have many responsibilities. That said, we had a rambler, too. MM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:51:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
To want for just the simplest thing and then it doesn't happen. Always living on hope. I know this story. How right you are.
Thanks for the comment, Lyn.