Daddy

By the way: Sylvia Plath is kinda crazy

Daddy
by Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time --
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root.
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich.
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the langauge obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat muscahe
And your Aryan eye, bright blue,
Panzer-man, panzer-pan, O You --

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

you stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have over you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty read heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and teh screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

I've killed on man, I've killed two --
the vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Shitmydadsays

Hilarious twitter account that's sparked a tv show (that I cannot imagine will do well) and a book.

Shitmydadsays

A favorite: "I need to change clothes? Wow. That's big talk coming from someone who looks like they robbed a Mervyn's."

He meant to do more good than he meant to do harm

Cory: ...Papa was like a shadow that followed you everwhere. It weighed on you and sunk into your flesh. It would wrap around you and lay there until you couldn't tell which one was you anymore. That shadow digging in your flesh. Trying to crawl in. Trying to live through you...I'm just saying I've got to find a way to get rid of that shadow, Mama.
...
Rose: You can't be nobody but who you are, Cory. That shadow wasn't nothing but you growing into yourself. You either got to grow into it or cut it down to fit you. But that's all you got to make life with. That's all you got to measure yourself against that world out there. Your daddy wanted you to be everything he wasn't...but at the same time he tried to make you into everything he was. I don't know if he was right or wrong...but I do know he meant to do more good than he meant to do harm. He wasn't always right. Sometimes when he touched he bruised.

The above is an excerpt from August Wilson's play Fences. It is an incredible play that my brother performed in a few years ago, the similarities between Troy (the father) and my father, and Cory (the son) and my brother, and Rose (the mother/wife) and my mom were striking. Characteristics I mean, not so much actions. The play is beautiful, and the excerpt above is from the scene after Troy has died, the exchange between Cory and Rose is always with me, particularly Rose's monologues which continues on. Rambling, sorry. Done. ALSO Denzel Washington is performing it on Broadway right now, I would give my right arm to see it haha.

(6/4) Meet you halfway

You will find that if you really try to be a father, your child will meet you halfway.

 - Robert Brault

Ahhh I cannot seem to post these everyday I really thought I had done one yesterday haha.

Mother/father paradox

My mother protected me from the world
and my father threatened me with it.

- Quentin Crisp

(6/2) Tough Little Boys

This song always reminds me of my dad's relationship with my sister. (Click the link for the video/song)

Tough Little Boys
by Gary Allan

Well I never once, backed down from a punch.

Well I'd take it square on the chin.
but I found out fast that bully’s just laugh,
When you've got to stand up to them.
So I didn't cry when I got a black eye,
As bad as it hurt I just grinned.
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads
They turn into be babies again.

Scared me to death, when you took your first steps,
Well I'd fall every time you fell down.
Your first day of school, I cried like a fool, and
I followed your school bus to town.

Well I didn't cry when Old Yeller died,
At least not in front of my friends.
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads
They turn into be babies again.

Well I'm a grown man but as strong as I am,
sometimes its hard to believe,
How one little girl with little blonde curls,
Can totally terrify me.
If you were to ask my wife would just laugh,
She'd say, "I know all about men,
And how tough little boys grow up to be Dads
They turn into be babies again."

Well I know one day I'll give you away,
And I'm gonna stand there and smile.
But when I get home and I'm all alone,
Well I'll sit in your room for a while.

Well I didn't cry when Old Yeller died,
At least not in front of my friends.
But when tough little boys grow up to be dads
They turn into be babies again.

When tough little boys grow up to be dads
They turn into be babies again.

June: Fatherhood

My father and I never got along. We valued different things, we had opposite opinions on almost everything, we held different beliefs about people and identity. I was never black enough for him and loved the rest of my family too much.

In short, I'm hesitant to make this month about fathers because my personal experience with my own is not a good one, and I'm afraid it'll seep through. It will seep through, just to warn you now. There are a lot of quotes and poems and songs out there that have a positive view as well and I will put those in, maybe even the bulk of them will be. I just thought I should give this disclaimer.

It is much easier to become a father than to be one.

- Kent Nerburn