when i was ten

A WAYS BACK WHEN,

WHEN I WAS TEN…

Psycho-Analyses XXI and XXII

En Pentametre Iambique, eh?

 Concerning Mainly the “Wall of

Silence,” the “Punishment” for

Genetically Happy, Epicurean

Children, and Other Family Members,

In the Face of Massive

Jewish Losses and O So Stoic,

Genetic Perfectionism and

Massive Social Depression

By Izzy Ess of Happiness

A ways back when, when I was ten, my mother

Never told where all babies came

From and my father wasn’t oft around

To ask.  I asked my mom and she was quite

Embarrassed with a big fat belly full

Of Laylie, my own youngest sister.  Her

Response was that I had to ask my father

And when the question of where babies came,

Came up, my dad did change the subject, artfully.

My dad and I would go for walks

Of quite a distance, as completely in

A silence as a busy city would

Permit.  In Westdale, Hamilton, Ontario

In Canada, I spotted a big advertising

For a girdle and it showed

A topless woman with her back to us

With a fine embroidered girdle on her

Derriere.  In her lovely hand she held

A kitten, intimating that, “This girdle

Is as soft as this small furry kitten,

Eh?”  I tried to say a thing or two

About the lovely topless woman, so

I said, “Hey, dad, how ‘bout that woman, eh?”

My dad’s quite clever sleight of mind resulted

In a comment for me, “Yes, it is

A lovely kitten, son.”  And, we continued

On, in silence for another  hour

Or two ‘til we got home where there was some

Real safety for my father, up against

Some further innuendoes about ladies,

Sex and baby origins.  A little

Later, I learned from my friends what sex

Was all about.  I must have learned it quite

OK because at five and seventy

I still am interested.   My performance

Is now quite hampered by my failing heart.

Oh well, my questions these days are not ‘bout

The details of the sex act and the circumstance

Of pregnancy, but rather ‘bout

Relationships of kith and kin to me.

In retrospect, the wall of silence was

As influential as was anything

That did determine my own happiness

And how my dreams of happy families

Did not come true.  So even when my dad

Was eighty, he objected to my question

‘Bout why he never came to see me at

My high school playing basketball.  He got

So red and angry and some spittle left

His mouth as he just bellowed, “WHO could LIVE

With YOU?!” as if I was but ten again

And asking him some questions that he could

Not, or would not answer.  It’s too late now

Dad, lest your Spirit’s hanging out about

Within a hearing distance from me.  “I

Forgive you, daddy.  I know that you were

Brought up with the strong admonitions aimed

At you as well as you aimed them at me:

“Young children should be seen, but never heard!”

Lo, rest in peace, my dear old father!  I

Forgive you and I hope that ye have done

The same for me.  I’m sure the little Cherubim

Do not ask questions.  They just play

Their harps and flap their wings and never ask

A question and they never make demands

On your own precious and perfectionism

Time and energy.  Despite your silences,

I do have you to thank for my

Life-long enjoyments, gambling and the smoking

Of tobacco and the use of coffee

In great quantities and a large tendency

To overeat, as well as chess

And racing horses.  Why, just yesterday,

I used your “system” to make money on

A race at Woodbine, in Toronto, eh?

You must be watching out for me!  I made

A cool cash prize of fifty bucks on an

Ontario cool lotto ticket, “Poker,”

Drawing a club flush for only two!

You did make it to eighty-four years old.

At five and seventy, I think and feel,

I still have several years of happiness.

God Bless You And May God Forgive You, As

All Of Your Four Bright Children Have Forgiven

You, I’m Sure, Now That I Have Done So, Too!

AMEN AND HALLELUJAH, EH?

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

November 16, 2013