I’m not going to get into the Friday the 13th stuff today. Instead, here’s a poem I wrote when I learned that a 15-year-old girl in the family was pregnant. To think that child would be nineteen now is freaky. What I really wonder is if she continued the “family tradition.”
© W. Scott Grant
March 15, 1998 6:45 pm
Mother, I understand now how hard it was for you
Seventeen is such a young age to have a baby
You couldn’t wait until graduation, college and marriage
Despite the advice of church, friends, or family.
I remember waiting in the charity line, humiliated
And how you lied about the identity of my father
You had to protect him, he couldn’t support us
That’s where I learned right from wrong, mother.
And when you planted the seed of dark suspicion
Any older man in authority, family or otherwise
Why would he want the attention of a little girl?
They can’t be trusted – you could tell by their eyes.
Then you married the drunk you swore you could change
He was my daddy, I just had to learn to love him
But change he did not – he had what he wanted
A warm place to sleep, food, sex, and a victim.
You taught me sacrifice – how passion ruined your life
You denied your childhood for mine – committed ever-after
Now I’m sixteen, and I’ve learned so much from you
Today I give you a gift… your new granddaughter.