poem

 My SonWhen a young dad saysmy sonHe means it mostly in the possessiveSelf enhancing sense:Fruit of my loins!Bearer of hopes and dreamsRedeemer of past sinsContinuation of my nameThe boy as object:   As silver Porsche As plasticine trophy wife  As wall of degrees As go rake the leavesAs, here ’s a word of advice young manwhen I was a kid I used toHandle thingsAs vassalAs once and future king It ’s the bombastic bellow of the man in fullJust before an untimely fall:Behold my boy!But the older dad whispersIt with a whiff of apologetic Ruefulness.  It ’s not solely your fault,my son, for all the errors of your life.Why should shame and regret Alone be borne by youMany of them belong to me And are mine to be borne too.  6/23/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - June 23, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs