Adolescent Power Plays

Most children
Seem to be
Born with
An innate ability
To test the limits
Of their parents
Endurance.
They constantly
Probe to see
What they can
Get away with,
And in the process
They discover
Their parent's
Strong points,
As well as
Their weak points.
For instance,
A common occurrence
Is when a baby
Discovers a particular
Ear piercing scream
That obviously agitates
Its parents.
The baby will then
Use it with
Reckless abandon
Until made to stop
By one of the parents,
Then the other parent
Will be singled out
As the focus
For their vocal performance,
Especially if that parent
Doesn't also puts a stop to it.
The baby quickly learns
When and where
Discipline will be applied,
But equally important
When and where
It won't be as well.
A child may sense
That the parents
Are more restrained
When guests are present,
Or when they are
Out shopping,
And may choose
That opportune moment
To run the show.
The child quickly learns
How to get
What it wants,
And when a parent
Caves in to bad behavior,
They unconsciously
Reinforce the behavior
That annoys them the most.
Sometimes the children
Are well behaved
Around strangers,
But that may be because
They don't yet know
The stranger's limits.
I have seen numerous times
Where the child
Is clearly in control
And runs the household,
For the parents have failed
To set viable limits
To what is, and isn't acceptable.
By the time the child
Enters school, he or she
Is adept at sizing up adults,
And discovering what
He or she can get away with.
A child can easily spot
The new teacher's weaknesses
And will run wild unless
Limits are set immediately.
After all, the kids are
Used to pushing around
Their parents,
So why should any
Other adult be different?

The Taming of a She Wolf

What I remember was
Her passion for architecture.
Perhaps it was the idealistic
Dream of a young woman
At the start of her career,
Eager to take on life,
Naively determined to leave
Her mark on the world,
With no sense of limitations
Or the difficulties
She would one day face.
All I know is that
She seemed utterly fearless,
And on fire with possibilities
Of what architecture could be.
Supremely self-confident,
The world was her oyster.
After all, what could I,
Or anyone else, logically expect
From a girl who,
On her own initiative
And hard work
Won a five-year
All-expense-paid scholarship
To one of the top three
Architectural schools in the US.
She had shown her mettle
On her first job
After graduating,
Becoming a shooting star
In the architectural world.
She lined up eleven interviews
For her next position,
And ended up with
Eleven job offers
To choose from.
Those were exciting times
And there seemed
No limit to how far
She could go.
She quickly obtained her license,
And was able to take on
More and more responsibility,
But something changed.
She was no longer the bright-eyed
Bushy-tailed, unstoppable woman
I fondly remembered.
It was almost as if
Someone else had
Taken over her spirit.
The global economic crisis
Had hit the US big time,
And the company
She worked for
Was struggling to survive.
She was forced to take
A ten percent pay cut
Along with everyone else.
Even with that,
More than half her co-workers
Lost their jobs during the recession
Which left those remaining
Profoundly insecure.
I could hear the change
In the way she talked,
And in what she said.
I started hearing her
Say things like,
"They don't pay
Architects very much!"
Or just as lethal,
"They pay woman less
Then they do men
For the same work."
Instead of talking about
All the things she wants to do,
She is now focused
On the things she has
Not yet done,
As if they are stopping her
From advancing further.
She even talks about
Getting out of the field altogether,
And pursuing art,
Or something else
She enjoys doing.
What I hear is burn out,
The slow death
Of a once passionate artisan.
I know,
For I have been there myself.
What I have observed
Is that life is largely determined
By our attitude,
And hers is obviously waning.
It is as if she is trapped,
With nowhere else to go.
The wolf she was
Has been defanged,
And unless something changes,
She may come to hate
Her job and profession,
And of course,
The turmoil she is in
Inevitably will be carried back
To plague her family.
Once a person's confidence is lost,
Can it ever be regained?
Is there anything I could say
That would ease her struggle?
It is times like these
That can easily make or break
A budding professional,
And I certainly don't
Want to see her spirit broken
Any more than
It already is.
She doesn't have to
Be an architect, as long as
She enjoys what she does,
But if she chooses not to be
An architect,
My hope is for her
To go out with
A blaze of glory
Verses a whimper.

Ready To Do It All Over Again

He was middle aged,
Single and free,
Used to living alone
And taking care of himself,
But deep down
He had never forgotten
How much he enjoyed
Having someone
To share his life with
And care for him.
Besides, he liked being a father
And missed having
A wife and kids around.
His wife had passed away
A long time ago,
And his children
Were grown up and
Had children of their own
And were living far, far away.
I think he thirsted for
The intellectual stimulation
Of the conversations
He used to have
With those kids
As they were growing up.
They grew like weeds,
On a dietary mix of philosophy
And psychology,
Science and engineering,
Combined with
Practical wisdom
And simple common sense.
Maybe he had come
To the conclusion
That life was not meant
To be lived alone,
For when she showed up
And seemed to be
Emotionally available,
He was ready
To do it all over again.
He didn’t know if he had
Done it right the first time,
He just did the best he could,
And things kind of worked out.
He may have made
Any number of mistakes
Raising those kids,
And I suppose there are
A few things he would
Prefer to do differently
If he had to do it
All over again.
One thing he learned
Is that it is a lottery of sorts
How the kids turn out.
It’s part genetics,
Part parenting,
A good bit of luck
And a ton of retribution
For all the things
He did as a child.
Nonetheless,
He was ready.

Teaching and Eagle to Fly

It is a part
Of being human,
I suppose,
The desire
To be taken care of,
To have all
Our worldly needs fulfilled.
As a parent of a child
We may want to
Be there for them,
To spoil them,
To give them
All the finest things,
Yet as they grow older
We want them to discover
The strengths
They never knew they had,
The ability to succeed,
The tenacity to overcome,
The independence of spirit
That comes with knowing
That they can
Do it on their own.
It is an age old question,
How do we teach
An eagle to fly?
If they never had to stretch
Their wings,
Would they learn to soar?
We can cultivate a chicken
Used to having everything provided,
Or we can set them free
So that they discover
The pleasure of being an eagle.

Ruby, Ruby

Ruby, Ruby
Where did you go,
Why do you hide,
When did I lose you,
My youngest daughter?
I think it was
When your mother died,
But maybe it was
Even before that.
All I know
Is that I helplessly watched
The distance between us
Continually grow
Until the gap
Seemed far too wide
For either of us to bridge.
You always seemed
So full of rebellion,
Bitterness and rage,
Reflective of a soul
At war with the world.
I suppose you were
No different from any of us
In that you craved
To know that you were loved,
But you were blinded
To what was there for you
Because you could not
Fathom the love of others
Until you felt it for yourself.
It was obvious
In the way you lived
And by the men you chose
That your self esteem
Was not very high,
And you always
Appeared to be struggling
To come to terms with life.
There is a vulnerability
Inherent in such a battle,
And each man you met
Was attracted by that weakness.
When I heard you had converted
To becoming a Muslim,
I was not really surprised,
For I knew there had to be
A man behind there somewhere,
And sure enough
You had met someone
From Saudi Arabia
Who was indoctrinating you
Into his faith.
I don’t know the guy,
Or have any idea
What he might be like,
And certainly hope
He treats you well,
But what I fear most
Is his fanaticism and yours
For I imagine
You are still at war
With the world.
If he is the kind of man
Who stokes the fires of hatred,
And sees the world as evil,
Then there is no telling
What either of you might do.
If you can find peace
In either world,
Than I am happy for you,
For I believe that in the end,
All any of us seek
In any religion
Or any faith
Is to be at harmony with life
And open to love.

Vacation Ordeal

When the kids were young
Travel was not a pleasure
And certainly not a vacation!
They didn’t seem to adapt well
To a change of environment
And were most vociferous
In their complaints.
They were two and three years old
When we went to Hawaii
With the ridiculous idea
Of having a vacation
And watching my sister get married.
They seemed bound and determined
To get their two cents worth in.
One or both of them
Were screaming and crying
At every single meal
During the entire ten days
We were there.
Such a lovely time we had
Developing a profound understanding
Of why earplugs were invented!

Radient One

Some women develop
An absolute radiance
During the later stages
Of pregnancy.
They seem so totally at peace
With the world,
Content with being a mother,
Fulfilled in every sense.
There is a glow about them
That anyone can see,
And who would not be touched
By such luminescent beauty.
There was such a girl
In the child birthing class
That Cecilia and I took
Who captivate us both in awe
With her gentle spirit
And the serenity of her smile.
Her name was Becky,
And that is where
We got the name
For our first child.

Mama and the Bull

Our kids grew up hearing
The tale of
Mama and the bull,
And were witnesses
To the story’s evolution
Over time.
The story never sounded
The same twice,
At least when she told it,
But I am here
To set the record straight.
During our trip
Around England
Back in the summer of 78,
My wife, Cecilia, and I
Spotted a small lake
That was stunningly beautiful,
So I stopped
To check it out.
We crossed a pasture
That led down to
A row of trees
Just this side of the lake.
Once we got to the trees,
We looked back
And noticed two bulls
At the far end of the pasture
We had just crossed.
They had apparently
Watched us as we
Traversed their territory.
The younger of the two
Adopted a belligerent attitude
About our intrusion,
And commenced to snorting
And pawing the ground.
I, like an idiot,
Did the same back at him
And the bull took that
As a direct challenge
To his authority
As well as his bullhood.
He charged our position
Just as we bolted
For the fence.
We were almost there
When Cecilia panicked
And froze in place
Crying “Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!”
So I had to carry her
The rest of the way.
Thereafter Cecilia tried
To rationalize her paralysis,
Insinuating that the bull
Wouldn’t have attacked
A stationary target,
But I figure
It would have been
A rather poor time
To test that theory.
Somehow with each
Telling of the tale,
Cecilia got braver
And the bull got tamer,
Until the last versions
I heard had her putting
Flowers in its nose.
Now the bull did get close,
But nowhere near that close.

Absense of Sanity

There is something
About having a baby,
Especially when it is her first,
That drives
Young mothers bananas.
A perfectly rational lady,
If there is such a thing,
Has a maternal instinct
So incredibly strong,
Sanity often escapes her,
Especially when it has to do
With the welfare
Of her baby!
My wife, Cecilia,
Was a classic example.
She had delivered
And cared for
Numerous babies
While working as a nurse
In the Philippines.
You might have thought
She would have no trouble
Managing one of her own,
But nothing could been
Further from the truth.
Nothing she had done
Equipped her to deal with
The trauma of being a mom!
The instant the reality hit her
That this was her baby,
She became helplessly comical,
Completely overwhelmed
With instinctual devotion.
The least little cough,
The slightest sneeze,
Even a runny nose,
Was enough to send her
Into a total panic.
Traveling with a baby
Can be harrowing enough
Without having to do battle
With instinctual insanity.
When our oldest daughter
Was just three months old,
We took a trip to England
To visit her mother
And two of Cecilia’s sisters.
She was still
Far from the seasoned pro
She would someday become.
We had decided to tour
The English countryside
Southwest of London
And to visit Stonehenge.
More than anything,
We wanted to enjoy
A day off by ourselves.
We left Becky
In the able care
Of Cecilia’s mother,
And proceeded to drive off.
We later realized
That was the first time
Cecilia had been
Separated from Becky
Since we brought her
Home from the hospital.
We had been gone
Less than half a day
When Cecilia started
Crying hysterically
That she missed Becky,
So we had to rush
Back to London.
A short time later,
All of us, namely;
Cecilia, her mother,
Our daughter, Becky,
Her sister, Precy,
And myself,
Commenced circumnavigating
The back roads
Of England together
During one stop,
My wife got it into her head
That the baby formula
Had to be sterilized
For at least a half hour
Before it was safe for Becky.
I came into the room
And found the two of them
Totally concealed
In a women-made fog!
During a stopover
At a local farmhouse,
We placed Becky
And her bassinet
Upon a picnic table.
Our attention was diverted
For no more than
A minute or two,
Just long enough
For a flock
Of curious chickens
To collect around her.
Cecilia freaked out
When she saw the chickens
Examining Becky,
And screamed like a banshee
While charging to her rescue,
Scattering chickens
In every direction!
Things can be tough
When traveling with a baby,
Managing diapers and all.
It can be pretty stressful
For any new mom.
Cecilia was fit to be tied
And ready to start a revolution
When we discovered
The disposable diaper factory
Had gone on strike
And no more diapers
Could be found anywhere.
That was more than enough
English socialism for her.
For any first time mothers to be,
Don’t be alarmed.
You will invariably find yourself
Acting irrationally
No matter how logical and pragmatic
You might normally be.
Enjoy your temporary
Absence of sanity.
You will see the humor
In your experiences later,
And will become a motherhood pro
Before you know it.

Perfecting the Squeal

Anyone with young daughters
Will likely have
First hand experience
Observing their efforts at
Perfecting the squeal!
They work on it
Day and night,
Getting it just right,
Mastering the ear-piercing wail,
That bloodcurdling
High-pitched scream.
It comes so natural
And they are ruthless in its use.
A simple trip
To the grocery store
Becomes a major ordeal,
But any confined space will do
For them to practice their art.

Boy Germs

As my daughters
Were growing up,
They amused me
With their evolving
Distinctions and comments
On the subject
Of boys and men.
By age four or five
They had developed
A phobia of something
They called boy germs.
To hear them talk
They were a peril
Akin to the plague.
As they entered their teens,
Guys suddenly became
“The masculine subspecies,”
A subtle but comical shift
In interpretation
Of the differences
Between the sexes.
That phase subsided
Almost as quickly
As it appeared,
And a more ominous phase
Took hold.
All of a sudden
They were talking
About the possibility
Of someday
Getting married
And having kids
Of their own.
Deep down,
I knew where
That conversation
Was heading.
When Becky,
My oldest daughter,
Met a guy she liked,
I knew immediately.
She didn’t have to
Say a thing.
It was written
All over her face.
She was on top
Of the world,
Practically
Dancing on air,
And boy germs
Were the least
Of her concerns.
I watched as
Becky’s and Sal’s
Love for each other
Grew and matured,
And I envied
Both their youth
And their passion.
It was Ruby’s turn next,
To overcome her fear
Of those treacherous
Boy germs.
She chose Alfred
To be her husband.
Nothing gives me
More peace of mind
Than knowing
My children are happy
And well taken care of.
No other success
I have had in my life
Comes remotely close
In value.

Acceptance

I instinctively knew
My acceptance
Of the man she chose
Meant the world
To my daughter, Becky,
But it still awed me
When she later told me
Had I not liked Sal,
She would probably
Have looked for
Someone else.
I had no inkling
I had that kind
Of power.
Fortunately,
I used it wisely.

The Joy of Parenthood

Part of the joy
Of parenthood
Was listening to
All the funny things
The kids came up with
While growing up,
And the other part
Is reminding them
Of their comments
Now they are older.
They just don’t
Seem to appreciate
My photographic memory
For some reason,
But some of those memories
Are priceless.

Subterranean Candy Store

From my daughters’ perspective,
One of the most
Memorable events
Of our Munich stay
Was the time they discovered
The subterranean candy store.
I had worn my self out
Wandering the streets,
Taking in the sights
And sounds of the city,
But they still had
Energy to burn.
I went up to rest
While they went down.
It turned out there was
A subway station
Across from the guest house
Where we were staying,
And two floors down
They found their Mecca.
The shop was a cornucopia
Of colorful candies,
Many varieties of which
They had never seen before.
The two of them
Bought what they figured
Was a week’s supply
Of candied treats,
But their treasure
Only lasted them
Halfway back to the lodge,
And I ended up with
Two hyper young girls
On a profound sugar high.

Sibling Rivalry

It was the instinctual rivalry
Between my two daughters
That began turning my hair gray,
And at the root of each gray hair
Lies a story!

Becky, my oldest daughter,
Thrived on being the only child
And didn’t abdicate her throne easily.
She became a holy terror
When Ruby was born a year later.

Becky didn’t like
Ruby’s competition one bit,
And would try to scratch
Or bite the new baby
Every chance she got.

She had a vicious jealous streak
That had us very concerned.
It wasn’t safe to leave here
Anywhere near
Her baby sister!

When Ruby was three months old,
We left her with a neighbor
And took Becky with us on a cruise.
Those few days seemed to help
Becky accepted being stuck with her sister.

Accepting being stuck with
And accepting a sister
Are two distinctly different things,
And those two would battle
Like cats and dogs for years to come.

It wasn’t long, however
Before Ruby caught up in size
And could hold her own
Against Becky
So it became a battle of wits!

The rivalry could flare up into open warfare
Virtually any time or place.
Once coming back from school,
Becky made it home first
And tried to lock Ruby out.

Those two combatants,
Then only seven and eight,
Tore the front door
Completely off its hinges
In the fury of the encounter!

Those two nearly drove us nuts
With their constant bickering
We couldn’t sit them
Anywhere near each other
For fear of a fight.

For a while I drove a pickup truck
And I couldn’t have them both
In the cab with me.
What I needed was a set of cages
At opposite ends of the hold.

A few years later
While driving Becky to school
After one of their encounters,
I told her “Someday Ruby and you
Will be best of friends!”

Her instantaneous come back was
“Not in this lifetime!”
She was so adamant about that,
And I can’t resist
Teasing her about now!

It was interesting how
Their rivalry played out.
They tried so hard to emphasize
Their differences
And deny their similarities.

Becky shined in school
While Ruby struggled,
But Ruby became a master
On the computer
And Becky didn’t want to
Touch the thing.

They were both naturally artistic.
Becky took up drawing and painting
While Ruby got into graphic design,
But each one strove to ensure
Their individual styles were unique.

They wouldn’t dare
Wear the same kind of clothes,
And wouldn’t even
Eat the same foods.
Neither one wanted to be like her sister.

The funny thing was how much
They had in common
In spite of
All their exaggerated efforts
At being unique.

Both girls are musically inclined.
Becky took piano lessons
And learned how to read music
But to spite her sister,
Ruby taught herself how to play by sound.

They both were voracious readers,
But seldom read the same books.
They both took typing in grade school.
Becky was clocked at 75 words a minute
But Ruby got up to 95 wpm.

It wasn’t too many years later
When another lifetime occurred ,
And Becky declared that Ruby and her
Were then best friends,
And I struggled not to laugh!

When looking through
Some of her old school essays,
Becky was somewhat ashamed
Of the blatant hostility
She exhibited toward her sister.

Initially their truces were transient things,
Seldom lasting long,
But they provided moments of respite
That we sorely needed
After the years of refereeing their battles.

Gradually they began to do things together
And actually enjoy each other’s company
Or maybe it happened when Becky discovered
That boys were more interesting
Than locking horns with her sister!

There were plenty of times
When I just had to hold my breath
To stop from strangling one or the other
And for parents facing a similar challenge
Just know that those battles will someday pass.

Ruby's Presence

Ruby had the uncanny ability
To be with her mother
During Cecilia’s final months
In a way
None of the rest of us could.
Ruby’s simple presence
Comforted Cecilia
During her darkest hours,
And somehow seemed
To soothe her pain
More effectively
Than the morphine drip
Ever could.

Ruby's Prayers

Ruby refused
To give up hope,
And kept praying
For a miracle,
That somehow
Her mother
Would rally
And triumph
Over the cancer.
No one could have
Prayed more fervently
Than she did,
And she was
Utterly devastated
That her prayers
Went unanswered.
I was in awe
Of her simple,
But elemental faith,
For I had none.

Ruby Quips

Our youngest daughter,
Ruby,
Was a source for
Of numerous
Memorable quips
When she was young.
I remember her whining
“I feel good!”
With a contorted face
Diametrically opposed
To her words.
One time
She came home
From first grade,
And blurted out
“How come I don’t have
A stepdad
Like everyone else
In school?”
She appeared to think
She had somehow
Been cheated
Because Cecilia and I
Were still together.
Was that ever
A statement of the times!
On another occasion,
On the banks
Of a river in Arizona,
Ruby initiated
A conversation
With a hobos
Who was fishing there.
On returning
She proclaimed
“Mama, he’d make
A good Papa!”
To which my wife
Laughingly responded,
“Just what do you
Have in mind?”
Yes, I do enjoy
Regurgitating
Those memories,
Even if my daughters
Might sometimes prefer
I develop a case of
Alzheimer's instead.

Pizza and Quiet

Once our daughters
Learned to talk,
We couldn’t seem to
Shut them up.
When their chatter
Started to get
On her nerves,
Cecilia would
Plead with them,
“Give me some
Peace and quiet!”
That obviously
Wasn’t what Ruby,
Our youngest daughter,
Heard, however.
In response
To being scolded
For one trangression,
Or another,
She indignately
Came out with
“Give me some
Pizza and quiet!”
In an almost perfect
Imitation of Cecilia.
She had no idea
Why both Cecilia
And myself
Broke out
Laughing hysterically.
Obviously that wasn't
Quite the response
Ruby was expecting.

Line of Demarcation

My two daughters,
Each territorial creatures
And sworn enemies,
Staked out
Their respective spots
At opposite ends
Of the back seat
Of the car.
Like two snarling tigers
They each rode,
Ready to hit or kick the other
Should she dare
Cross over the imaginary
Line of demarcation.
If it wasn’t that,
Then it would be
The ritual complaint
That the other one
Was looking at her,
A most grievous wrong
You can be sure!
They nearly drove us nuts
With their bellicose bickering,
And I chuckle to think
That they will someday
Have kids of their own
To give them back
A dose of their own medicine!