Sometimes kids surprise us, and it’s not always with a clunky cardboard craft with a wonky sun.
I’m not here to flatter you, boost your ego, or follow in your footsteps so you can show off to your tired friends on Skype: “Look at my son!”
They don’t really care. Their kids have grown up, moved away or stayed, started families, or like me – are the last of their kind.
If you ever ask me what I think, which you usually don’t, I’d say: I don’t care.
You probably don’t want to hear about my life anyway. And honestly, I don’t want to add to your gray hair or stress you out more.
Our talks are like monologues, delivered at different times, with pauses that no one wants to fill. You’re afraid to ask how I feel, and I don’t want to answer.
Kids don’t always meet expectations, but sometimes that’s the best they can offer.
Русская версия:
http://stihi.ru/2024/05/26/5300
to my father
© Copyright: Эл Стайнберг, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124080800637
Свидетельство о публикации №124080800637
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