On Being Sentimental and Sentimental Being

It is starting to become more and more clear to me that I am a just plain ol’ sentimental kind of guy. I am going to cry at weddings, and during sad movies, and especially during sad movies that end with weddings. Babies too. Holy shit! Babies are really starting to rattle those brittle places inside of me. The tear-duct places. The leg melting places. The funny bone places where you feel feverish with giggles when tickled there too much. God, those are the best kind of cryings. I don’t think it is a bad thing and I am ready to stop pretending that the very plain things in life turn out to not be plain after all. I am looking forward to being extra, extra ordinary.

The second poem I wrote (AND NOW REVISED) for my Senior Capstone class at SPU. It relates directly to what I just shared. I hope you enjoy. It is sentimental…way too much! But I like it. I like being sentimental.

I will likely continue to write about some of the places where the soul is fractured. There will be fluid and bone and ghosts and shadow places and shadow people.

But I will also write this stuff, the stuff of sentiment, where the Elmers glue of old innocence has begun to re-harden  and hold the glitter in place…and the fractures too. They can now be seen as whole again.

 

Remembering

 

Each time seeing

Red beads astride

Prickly leaves, every time

Misleading myself to believe

Mistletoe; I must re-remember,

God, that’s holly.

 

To My Unborn Daughter

 

I’m going back and changing

All the comments on my report cards

From throughout the years,

So, when I have a little girl

She will understand. Her dad

Didn’t: “talk too much in class.”

Only laughed too loud,

And that, “he couldn’t sit still.”

Was just their way of saying,

Every day he danced ballet

From the confines of a desk

And whistling the whole time,

The whole time whistling

A sonata or Beethoven’s fifth.

 

I’m going back and changing

Her future: her education,

I decided, will be important,

After all, I am her dear ol’ dad.

But from the get go, she will know

If she doesn’t fit in at work or school,

Or if she’d rather draw or dance than sit—

There will be a place where I will be,

Where she will always fit–

A place with room for feet to dream,

To hum the heartstrings of violins

As they draw their bows to sing

The nocturne melodies that are never sad.

She will know all the room she needs

In the gathering and Tuxedo-ed arms,

Waltzing with her dear ol’ dad.

 

 

Welcoming thoughts!

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3 responses to “On Being Sentimental and Sentimental Being

  • dtomes

    I laughed and cried
    here’s to your unborn daughter.
    Love Mom

  • sport152002

    Mom,

    Did you laugh and cry because you remembered the bi-annual torture of report cards? N’s and U’s in citizenship and the time I stole all the calculators in 5th grade?

  • Vicke Thrower

    whatever your past transgressions, you have grown into quite a literate man. I can only imagine how proud Mom must be. The Daughter poem is absolutely superb. Your words paint a song and everyone wants to dance. Thanks for sharing.

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