Saint Marty does Swan Lake.
Confessions of Saint Marty
Monday, June 13, 2011
June 13: Take 3, Dance Recital, Cartoon
As promised, here is the first of two new cartoons for Confessions of Saint Marty. As I said in "June 13: Take 1," I spent a good deal of my time in dark auditoriums this weekend, watching my daughter rehearse for her dance recitals. That is the inspiration for this doodle.
Saint Marty does Swan Lake.
Confessions of Saint Marty
Saint Marty does Swan Lake.
Confessions of Saint Marty
June 13: Take 2, New Poem, Surprises
Yes, I did write a poem this morning. Therefore, this post will be the second one for today. Two more (with new cartoons in them) are on the way this evening, when I can get to a scanner.
When I started writing this poem, I thought it was going to follow a certain path. However, sometimes poems don't cooperate with the poet. I found myself writing about things I had no intention of writing about. Let me put a disclaimer on this poem. It's a disclaimer a lot of poets place upon their work: don't confuse the speaker of the poem with the poet. While most writers (including poets) use details from their lives in their writing, it is very dangerous to think that all the details of a poem are true. There is truth in all poems. That's the difference. It's a fine line. It's sort of like thinking Catcher in the Rye is true because Holden seems so real. There is truth in Salinger's book, but it is not non-fiction in any way. Get it?
If it sounds like I'm trying to cover my ass, I'm not. I'm pretty open about my life. All you have to do is read this blog to realize that. As Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I got to say about that."
Saint Marty, setting the record straight.
When I started writing this poem, I thought it was going to follow a certain path. However, sometimes poems don't cooperate with the poet. I found myself writing about things I had no intention of writing about. Let me put a disclaimer on this poem. It's a disclaimer a lot of poets place upon their work: don't confuse the speaker of the poem with the poet. While most writers (including poets) use details from their lives in their writing, it is very dangerous to think that all the details of a poem are true. There is truth in all poems. That's the difference. It's a fine line. It's sort of like thinking Catcher in the Rye is true because Holden seems so real. There is truth in Salinger's book, but it is not non-fiction in any way. Get it?
If it sounds like I'm trying to cover my ass, I'm not. I'm pretty open about my life. All you have to do is read this blog to realize that. As Forrest Gump would say, "That's all I got to say about that."
Saint Marty, setting the record straight.
Holes
My son slapped my wife
Across the face yesterday.
Hard. Made her ears ring,
Eyes water. Only two, my son stared
At my wife, who cried, rubbed
Her cheek as if she’d been
Stung by a wasp. He didn’t
Understand my wife’s tears,
Why she looked at him
Like he’d just pulled
A gun on her, wanted her
To surrender her wedding band,
Anything she held dear.
Now that I’m grown, I hear
Stories from my sisters
How my father punched
Holes in the bedroom wall
When he got angry with Mom,
How Mom hung framed
Cross stitch and photos over
The holes, airbrushed Dad’s temper
Away so we kids wouldn’t
Be frightened of him.
I remember one picture
In my parents’ room:
Them at a campfire, brown necks
Of beer in their hands,
My dad’s arm draped around
Mom’s shoulder, smiles on both
Their faces. He looked calm,
Happy as Jimmy Stewart
After the angel gave him
His life back on Christmas Eve.
My wife tells me how my son
Comes to her today, puts his head
On her knees, pets her leg,
Fingers soft as a blade of grass.
He harbors my wife’s tears
In some hidden part of himself,
Like the holes in my parents’ walls,
Those places families hide
Savings bonds and fists,
Grandmother’s wedding rings,
Bruises and strings of pearls.
Anything children will inherit.June 13: Take 1, An Apology and Explanation
Well, I need to apologize for being absent from the blog universe this weekend. I spent the last three days trying to be a good father. On Saturday, I was shuttling my daughter to rehearsals for her dance concerts, which took place Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. On Saturday, I sat in an auditorium for six hours, watching little ballerinas and tap dancers practice. Then, I played the organ for a church service and quickly got my daughter in costume, makeup, and hair for the performance in the evening. Back to the auditorium at 6 p.m. The show lasted until about 10:15 p.m. Needless to say, I didn't even see a keyboard all day long.
The same can be said for Sunday. Church in the morning. I had to get my daughter to the theater by 1 p.m. for her afternoon performance. The performance ended at around 5:15 p.m. Quick drive home so my daughter could take a shower. Then I had a family birthday party to attend. My duties/obligations ended around 7:30 p.m. I was going to get to a computer and do some blogging, but I was too tired.
Instead, I watched the Tony Awards last night and completely unplugged my brain. Or tried to. However, all this explanation doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of my readers. I do have two new Confessions of Saint Marty cartoons to post today. Look for those this evening. And I'm planning on working on a poem today. Hopefully, that will be coming later today, as well. Potentially, this post could be the first of four new posts today. Keep checking.
Saint Marty has to get busy.
The same can be said for Sunday. Church in the morning. I had to get my daughter to the theater by 1 p.m. for her afternoon performance. The performance ended at around 5:15 p.m. Quick drive home so my daughter could take a shower. Then I had a family birthday party to attend. My duties/obligations ended around 7:30 p.m. I was going to get to a computer and do some blogging, but I was too tired.
Instead, I watched the Tony Awards last night and completely unplugged my brain. Or tried to. However, all this explanation doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of my readers. I do have two new Confessions of Saint Marty cartoons to post today. Look for those this evening. And I'm planning on working on a poem today. Hopefully, that will be coming later today, as well. Potentially, this post could be the first of four new posts today. Keep checking.
Saint Marty has to get busy.
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| My daughter with her dance trophies she won in May |
Friday, June 10, 2011
June 10: New Hero, Embarrassing Your Kids, Waving
Last night, I was waiting for my daughter to complete her rehearsal for her dance recital. In the car with me was one of my daughter's friends, an 11-year-old girl who has reached that point in her life when being seen wearing the wrong pair of socks is akin to losing a beloved pet. Of course, being who I am, I took advantage of the situation. I rolled down the windows, put the soundtrack to The Music Man in the CD player, and started singing as loudly as I could. By the time my daughter showed up, her friend was crouching on the floor of the car.
"Do you know what your dad did?" her friend hissed from the floor.
"I love this song," my daughter said as she climbed into the back seat with her friend. Without missing a beat, she started belting out "Seventy-Six Trombones" like a young Ethel Merman. It was absolutely joyful. My daughter has obviously gotten very used to my embarrassing character traits and has adapted to them well. She also has realized that letting me know I'm embarrassing her is a big mistake. I will sing louder, dance faster, and hug longer. She just goes with the flow. In most cases, she will join me in my insanity.
When we pulled up in front of her friend's house, I cranked up the CD again, and my daughter and I got out of the car and started dancing on her lawn to the song "Shipoopi." Her friend ran to her front door without looking back at us. My daughter and I danced to the whole song.
Embarrassment is my way to show my daughter I love her. A week or so ago, I heard a story on the radio about Dale Price, from Utah, who spent an entire school year waving to his teenage son's school bus. That doesn't sound too bad. But this man was wearing costumes every day. He waved as a bride, as Ariel from The Little Mermaid, as a pirate. You name it. Dale became an instant hero to me. So imagine my elation when I found his blog yesterday. The people at Blogger chose Wave At the Bus as a Blog of Note. I lost about an hour of my life yesterday just flipping through the pictures of his costumes.
I don't think enough parents in this world embarrass their children. I know my daughter may forget a lot of things about her childhood. She won't remember what we bought her for her seventh or eighth or ninth birthdays. But my daughter will remember dancing with me on her friend's lawn. And Dale's son will remember the 170 mornings his father donned dresses and bodysuits and stood waving at his school bus. That's what parental love is all about. Not being embarrassed to embarrass yourself.
I will always roll down the windows and sing as loudly as I can with my daughter. I will take every opportunity to dance with her in public. I may even pull out my gorilla costume and wave at her bus some morning.
Go to Dale Price's blog, "Wave At the Bus". See a father who really loves his kids. I'm taking a few notes of my own.
Dance with Saint Marty tonight. He'll be out on the lawn with his daughter.
"Do you know what your dad did?" her friend hissed from the floor.
"I love this song," my daughter said as she climbed into the back seat with her friend. Without missing a beat, she started belting out "Seventy-Six Trombones" like a young Ethel Merman. It was absolutely joyful. My daughter has obviously gotten very used to my embarrassing character traits and has adapted to them well. She also has realized that letting me know I'm embarrassing her is a big mistake. I will sing louder, dance faster, and hug longer. She just goes with the flow. In most cases, she will join me in my insanity.
When we pulled up in front of her friend's house, I cranked up the CD again, and my daughter and I got out of the car and started dancing on her lawn to the song "Shipoopi." Her friend ran to her front door without looking back at us. My daughter and I danced to the whole song.
Embarrassment is my way to show my daughter I love her. A week or so ago, I heard a story on the radio about Dale Price, from Utah, who spent an entire school year waving to his teenage son's school bus. That doesn't sound too bad. But this man was wearing costumes every day. He waved as a bride, as Ariel from The Little Mermaid, as a pirate. You name it. Dale became an instant hero to me. So imagine my elation when I found his blog yesterday. The people at Blogger chose Wave At the Bus as a Blog of Note. I lost about an hour of my life yesterday just flipping through the pictures of his costumes.
I don't think enough parents in this world embarrass their children. I know my daughter may forget a lot of things about her childhood. She won't remember what we bought her for her seventh or eighth or ninth birthdays. But my daughter will remember dancing with me on her friend's lawn. And Dale's son will remember the 170 mornings his father donned dresses and bodysuits and stood waving at his school bus. That's what parental love is all about. Not being embarrassed to embarrass yourself.
I will always roll down the windows and sing as loudly as I can with my daughter. I will take every opportunity to dance with her in public. I may even pull out my gorilla costume and wave at her bus some morning.
Go to Dale Price's blog, "Wave At the Bus". See a father who really loves his kids. I'm taking a few notes of my own.
Dance with Saint Marty tonight. He'll be out on the lawn with his daughter.
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| Dale Price rocks! |
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