SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT

My father used to give me licks with his belt.
It was always a very formal affair,
Like going into the manager’s office
And getting written up.
There was no emotion,
He just reviewed the infraction with me
(throwing tomatoes at cars, playing chicken with the hoodlum in the jalopy down the street, sass talking a teacher))
Reminding me this was going to hurt him worse than I,
Then he told me to grab my ankles.
I learned that if I started to cry
On about the 3rd lick or so,
He would stop and put his belt back on.

Then one day I decided not to cry.
The licks went on for some time,
But I didn't cry.
It wasn't a display of courage.
It was an act of defiance.
Rebellion, grabbing its ankles.
Without a whimper I had quit the program.
When he had finally had enough
The belt came to rest at his side
I stood straight up and turned to look him in the eye.
My father was crying.
And that was the last time
My father ever gave me licks with his belt.

srenfro 3/2013