It has been a long, incredible day.
We all go through rites of passage as young people—kindergarten graduations, First Communions (if you’re Catholic), bar mitzvahs, high school graduations, first sexual encounters, weddings. You get the idea.
Sharon Olds writes about a rite of passage . . .
Adolescence
by: Sharon Olds
When I think of my adolescence, I think
of the bathroom of that seedy hotel
in San Francisco, where my boyfriend would take me.
I had never seen a bathroom like that—
no curtains, no towels, no mirror, just
a sink green with grime and a toilet
yellow and rust-colored—like something in a science experiment,
growing the plague in bowls.
Sex was still a crime, then,
I’d sign out of my college dorm
to a false destination, sign into
the flophouse under a false name,
go down the hall to the one bathroom
and lock myself in. And I could not learn to get that
diaphragm in, I’d decorate it
like a cake, with glistening spermicide,
and lean over, and it would leap from my fingers
and sail, into a corner, to land
in a concave depression like a rat’s nest,
I’d bend and pluck it out and wash it
and wash it down to that fragile dome,
I’d frost it again till it was shimmering
and bend it into its tensile arc and it would
fly through the air, rim humming
like Saturn’s ring, I would bow down and crawl to retrieve it.
When I think of being eighteen,
that’s what I see, that brimmed disc
floating through the air and descending, I see myself
kneeling and reaching, reaching for my own life.
Olds’ poem isn’t a sex poem. It’s a poem about a young woman figuring out who she is, what her values are. She’s obviously aware that what she’s about to do is illegal (“Sex was still a crime . . .”), but she doesn’t care. She’s a college student, and the world (and her diaphragm) is in the palm of her hand. A rite of passage.
Today, my daughter had her white coat ceremony for medical school. There are 104 students in her class. That’s a lot of white coats. My daughter looked radiant—this is something that she’s been thinking about for a long, long time. (My sister, Sally, was a surgical nurse, so I know that medicine is in her blood.) Did I shed some tears? Of course. Did I cry when I hugged her after the ceremony. Of course. Did I tell her she’s amazing? Of course.
We went to Olive Garden for dinner (her choice). She ordered the eggplant parmigiana, as did I. She ordered an apple sangria, and I ordered the berry sangria. At one point, she held my hand as we talked to each other. It was perfect (and I don’t use that word very often, because nothing is perfect).
I’m now back at my hotel with my wife and son. We’re all kind of whipped because of the day’s happenings. My wife is sleeping, and my son is on his way. The other thing about rites of passage: they are emotionally and physically draining.
Saint Marty wrote a poem for today, based on the following prompt from The Daily Poet:
Think of a favorite cartoon character. Write a poem where that character gives you some smart (or not so smart) advice. For example, maybe Homer Simpson wants to discuss healthy eating. Or Elmer Fudd wants to talk with you about gun safety. It can be a cartoon character from your childhood, a movie, or a currently-airing show.
SpongeBob Gives My Daughter Advice
When She Starts Medical School
by: Martin Achatz
Now that you’re wearing that white
coat, I will impart to you
my secret sponge wisdom,
passed down from the Sponge Oracle
of Bikini Bottom:
First, if you can’t fall asleep,
eat a Krabby Patty. If you still
can’t fall asleep, eat a Krabby Patty
with cheese.
Second, if you feel depressed,
eat a Krabby Patty. If you’re still
sad afterward, eat a double Krabby Patty,
cheese optional.
Third, if you need to lose weight,
eat a low-carb Krabby Patty,
then go jellyfishing. Or
skip the jellyfishing and just
eat a Krabby Patty with extra cheese.
Fourth, if you catch fin rot, anchor
worms, or hole-in-the-head,
take two Krabby Patties and call
me in the morning, if you’re still
alive.
Fifth, if you think you’re dying,
eat as many Krabby Patties as you
want. It doesn’t matter.
Sixth, a list of other things
a Krabby Patty can cure: stonefish
syndrome, athlete’s tentacle, scale loss,
paranoia, panic attacks, pica,
pectorile dysfunction, guilt, killer comets,
hook-in-mouth disease, and
stiff pinky complex,
Seventh, remember the motto
of all med students: I’m ready,
I’m ready.
NOTE: This message was sponsored
by Eugene Harold Krabs.
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