Who gets in a fistfight at Disney World?
That would be my father –
Striking another tourist
For daring to step in his vicinity
—
My tears fall not because it happened
In the land of magic and wonder
But because it was
Just another day in our lives
—
From infancy I would scream in his presence
Living in reptilian fear
When older I taunted him
Forcing the inevitable on my timeline
—
I survived, as did my mother and my brother
And even that beaten down Disney tourist.
I still carried the damaged suitcase with me
Clinging to it as though it carried my life
—
Upon my birth Dad had put down the bottle
To avoid being the drunken brute his father had been
Turned out inebriation was overrated
As the cause of family violence
—
Yet he perused garage sales for toys he could afford
Skateboards, a pogo stick, skis and boots.
He taught me to ride a bike, to fish, to shoot
With hesitant reflection I admit he cared
—
For half a century I’ve carried my resentment
And failed to see that I was not the only burdened one
Before him my grandfather threw fists
And before him generations did the same
—
I wasn’t seeking forgiveness when
It came softly knocking at my door
Explaining that my baggage does not define me
Whispering “Just as his baggage did not define him”
—
It is not exactly forgiveness that found me – perhaps it is like forgiveness has a younger and less evolved sibling. This is another poem that practically wrote itself. These days I understand that my father’s violence was not about me but about his inner demons – and as I have my own demons, the knowledge softened my heart to some degree.
What found you again was your invincible spirit, looking to understand instead of demanding to be understood. On your path, you strive to take the high road and not stoop to the levels that other people’s demons drove them. Your healing gains momentum from that grace, in fits and starts and occasional leaps. It’s your dance of life. 🎶❤
I’m humbled by your words, my friend. Thank you.