This entry is a bit of a departure for me. It is my first poem (since college lit. class), so I do not quite have the confidence in this format for communication to let it stand on its own. Thus, this brief explanatory note:
As will hopefully be self-evident, Princess Imagination and I have had some skirmishes this week. Their stimuli were nothing very momentous – things like not putting on her shoes, or my insistence that she brush her hair – but they have forced me to examine myself, my responsibilities, and my motives for discipline in the spotlight of her angry little glare. This examination has helped me to recognize in new ways the danger of my own unexamined frustration and anger. It brought me to a new understanding of the weight of responsibility in raising my wonderful, sensitive, strong-willed daughter. And, ultimately, it inexorably, thankfully, drives me to prayer. So without further adieu….
Rushing headlong up the slopes of escalation
locked in the close embrace of argument.
Careening from defiance to exasperation,
pulled by the gravity of frustrated expectations.
We reach a pinnacle — a choice:
to leap together onto the angry rocks,
to crash and break, at least apart if not to pieces;
or to stop short and balance on the pain.
The pinnacle is a razor’s edge,
slicing deep into my feet, my foundation.
But I am the parent. I must hold her
back from the plunge, up from the slice of recrimination.
The stones cut deep to the supporting bone,
sheer away soft, self-indulging flesh
of ego, indignation, and entitlement.
These can’t support my daughter’s weight pressed into mine.
But the bones of love are diamond strong.
They find their grip, hold firm against emotion’s wind.
We will not fall, we will not break apart
to suffer loss of trust and scars of bitterness.
I hold her close for the descent
then gently set her down to climb together,
offer my bloody footprints as a guide
if she will choose to walk in them.
She is still young, still small enough to carry,
But she will one day scale these rocks with others.
God let the diamond light of love then guide her,
not mine, but yours you give me in the climb.
A few of my favorite recent snaps of my strong-willed, sparkling little girl)