No dogs with tutus, but
madris shorts and sleeveless plaids
Anything black, just like dad,
and pink is okay, too.
Just no dogs with
Category Archives: relationships
No dogs with tutus, but
Brothers on the mountain
Grey and blue play shivers
At dusk, to get it out before
Curfew and the scolding
Of the moon
Sisters in the field,
Green and gold play tremors
At dawn, tiring themselves before
Breakfast and the swaddling
Of the sun
Lovers under the waves,
Pink and red play tangles
At midnight, grooming one another after
Mass and the awakening
Of the tide
Even my son called me “Coach” when we were on the field. I suppose it was easier for both of us. I could correct, teach, and praise with the roles defined and accepted. He could play, develop, and be part of the team. Player and Coach. We were on the same team, but with clearly different responsibilities.
I was still Dad on the way to the game and the ride home. Talking about video games, the weekend plans, and school.
Coaching is now over for me in the sense it was for tee-ball, baseball, soccer, wrestling, basketball, lacrosse, and football. My office at home is decorated by plaques and photos, signed by my players and fellow coaches. With my kids moving into upper school, the rec league years are in the past. And I did not miss out of them. I am thankful.
Words. Too many. Where were the words, the right ones, when they were being called back to the yard? Hiding in the treetops or under the foundation walls?
It was quicker to swallow the words that came, but not easier, and assuredly not satisfying. Or empty them out over everything.
They were knives to slice and stab; spoons to dig, overturn, and mix. So much cutlery, clanging.
Except … sometimes.
Sometimes they were right for a moment when the right words were needed. Unrehearsed, freed expressions finding escape from webs.
In those times, the right words held power to heal, to explore.
And when the words left, so did their power, only much more slowly and a few laps behind. They now linger at the edges, but as tired memories, lucky and leaden both. The rants, arguments, and rehashings are now reduced to what they always were: mere distractions from what was and is real.
But the words, their potential…oh. And, I have the luxury of keeping the ones I need, dare say, want.
The right words still taste of sweet poetry and play melodies in my ears, occasionally harmonies; these words I deserve to keep dear, even though that is the only choice available.