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This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2004-04-09 12:15:45 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Talking About It with My Dad

He gets me out of bed after the five-some has been put up for the night. He’s in charge tonight with my mother out playing bridge with the girls. The sixties version of girls night out, with the highlight film playing back home in the den where he does his charting of all the teeth he filled standing the X-rays on the fluorescent rack, holding one up to the chandelier to get a better view – he throws me a book as I take a chair; I see the curled corners and the dog-eared pages greasy with the grime of an entire school of kids whose parents borrowed this educational tool – “Start the record” – He’d placed the vinyl 33 on the spindle - my Beatles album lying uncovered on the top of the stereo – … “Any questions?” If any kid ever asked one after that I’d be amazed, shocked, stupefied. This was as personal as a car wash. As I climbed into the top bunk my brother below Asked “What’d he want?” “Nothin’ Nothin’ you’d understand. Go to sleep.” … We’re talking about making arrangements for her burial And who’s going to get the silverware, the hooked rugs, The dining room set. Nobody can say the word Dead, or Dying, Or explain to me where we came from. And I don’t even wonder why not.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jordan Brendez Bandojo On Date: 2004-05-07 19:05:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.74468
Hi Tom, It is a privilege to read this outstanding piece. Very moving! As always, you always shine in your poetry! Kudos and congratulations! Jordan

This Poem was Critiqued By: Sherri L. West On Date: 2004-05-07 10:56:31
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.52381
Hi Tom, I had intended to comment on this piece a lot sooner but my schedule has not left me with any free time lately. I really loved this piece and can so identify with the time period and attitudes of the sixties. When my brothers and I became curious, my parent borrowed my grandmother's "Momma Kitty" and two litters of kittens later, we supposedly had our answers. I enjoyed the style that used which allows the reader a snap shot of the past. I have to smile when I think about your Dad planning this phase of your education - waiting for the right moment, playing one of your records to put you at ease and then, just handing you THE book. As much as he wanted to provide you with the information, he certainly was not open for discussion - an attitude that was then projected to your brother. The next snapshot provides us with a glimpse into the situation surrounding your mother's funeral. No one could say the word death. My mother had cancer when I was ten and no one could say that either. My brothers and I knew something was seriously wrong but we were told everything was fine. That's hard to believe when all of the adults in your life are disolving into pools of tears at a momen't notice. Your title also provides the just the right touch of irony. Well done! Sherri

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2004-05-03 14:39:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
Thomas, The silences in this poetic moment are breathtaking. Perhaps it is the breath taking that creates the silences. Either way they are the weave of the fabric. What a brilliant statement of the unutterable. Rick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mick Fraser On Date: 2004-05-02 11:58:24
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.18182
All this reminds me of is how fathers' of the day were often distant relatives...especially true in my case with my dad being an international pilot. Bittersweet memories of the so-called lessons of life, that nature teaches, forget dads. Cool poem Tom. Mick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Wayne R. Leach On Date: 2004-04-24 20:24:48
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.62857
Thomas, truly an emotional read. The free form is excellent for this subject, IMO. One of the most horrific experiences we can have in this life. You bring it complete understanding, down to basics, reality. Well done. I might offer one suggestion for you to consider, one I think might make this even more powerful. I wonder if there could be a reduction in the number of "the" articles. I would not alter S1 though, but I think several of them could be eliminated with ease. A few examples: I see (the) curled corners and (the) dog-eared pages greasy with (the) grime [from] an entire - [changing "of" to "from"?] school of kids whose parents borrowed this educational tool – “Start the record” – my Beatles album lying uncovered on (the) top of the stereo – This was as personal as a car wash. - [Excellent line, I love it!] As I climbed into the top bunk my brother below - [You might consider a comma after "bunk".] Asked “What’d he want?” “Nothin’ Nothin’ you’d understand. Go to sleep.” - [Perfect! Powerful.] I'd leave the rest in its excellent condition. Super job, poet. Peace, I wish for you. Wayne

This Poem was Critiqued By: G. Donald Cribbs On Date: 2004-04-14 07:23:30
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.73333
Thomas, You've got an amazing gift as a writer. You're voice is well developed, casual, a man at a barstool (how appropriate!). I enjoy how you take these elements and bring them together "as if by accident," but filled with the intention and power of a seasoned poet. Wow. Stunning. A great job here of winding us through the experience, perceiving the scenario through your boyhood eyes, bonding with dad over the beatles and his work (a nice touch to show how he lets you into his world, his work), and this other work of life: facing death and trying to get our heads around it. Pow. You hit us with the power of this ending. I very much liked it. Don't change a thing. I loved the journey: look over here, then over there, then back over here, then BAM!! What I'm talking about here is DEATH! Luckily, you wrote it, and we've got a much better read than what I just wrote here, yapping about it. A wondeful read. Loved the poem. Keep 'em coming. Regards, Don

This Poem was Critiqued By: zen sutherland On Date: 2004-04-14 00:33:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Hey Thomas, I like a good story poem, and this one flashes forward and back and lets our minds fill in the gaps better than most. How strange we introduce something as individually powerful as death in a way that's "personal as a car wash." It's a nice capture of the moment of both knowing and confusion, of the loss of the idea ("Nobody can say the word Dead") by focusing on the details ("who’s going to get the silverware") Nice moment too of putting the middle child in the middle by being aware that something uncomfortable was being handed down from above and below - the younger brother - wouldn't (or has yet to) understand. To me your poem underscores the best reason for poetry in the first place - to give myth back to the people (in the way that Joseph Campbell says it's been missing) and pressing the rites of birth, death, the passing of childhood, etc. into the pages of books, like dried flowers, to be examined by the reader for a greater validation. Nice work! zen

This Poem was Critiqued By: Marcia McCaslin On Date: 2004-04-09 23:29:16
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Tom--This is priceless--you know, like the TV ad? You have painted TWO Norman Rockwells for me, spirited me away to another time and brought my own homelife into sharp and nostalgic focus. As personal as a car-wash, was it? Now if this were a movie I was watching, I would just sit back and get all reminiscent-y and enjoy, but when I piece it down, you have cleverly taken the high points of the attitude of the era and parceled out the centerpieces for us to glimpse. Reading this, I have to laugh with tears in my eyes (& I'm serious) because whenever someone takes me back to my own talks with my Dad, I turn to jello. I think my Dad did 'skirt' on the birds and bees with me, his daughter, but my mother could never bring herself to. Finally, the local horse 'n' buggy (literally) town Doctor--Doctor MacLeod called all 8 of us girls from the 8th grade together in the pews of the Masonic Lodge and told us about menstruation. I had been "doing that" for 3 yrs. by that time, but I sat respectfully because such were the times. Here's your Dad, giving you a book, and putting your Beetles record on (for distraction or to make you comfortable--or to make HIM comfortable! It's just all too funny--then you, follow suit, and tell your siblings: nothing--nothing they'd understand, following the pattern that has been handed to you. (Can you tell I think you did a good job?) It really comes home when your mother dies, but no one can say the word. My mother was the most absolutely devoted mother a person could have, but never, ever told me a word about sex. Her Puritan instincts certainly "protected" me from it, but it was never mentioned. I myself got my kids a mama kitty when they were 6 and 8 and mama kitty had many kittens (which we gave all away to the best homes we could find) and that's the way I taught my kids about sex. Well laugh-out-loud. But we are who we are. I think I've wandered more into my own life than I should have, b ut just letting you know how closely I identify with what you've said here. A really really good piece! Thanks--Best-- Marcia

This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2004-04-09 15:58:02
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.75000
Hi Tom, I am sure I am older than you but in my generation we never talked about "it" either! I was married at 18 and knew nothing about anything..thought I did, however. So your father was also a doctor...It appears, from your poem, that he worked at home or at least brought home his teeth x-rays to study after hours. Your description of the 'book' he threw at you is very clear...used by many with it's curled corners and the dog-eared pages greasy with the grime of an entire school of kids whose parents borrowed this educational tool'...sex book....hmmmm...I never got one of those...did it help? So he put the record on and said "Any questions?" Wonder what would have happened if you had said yes and then issued forth a varity of difficult and embarassing (for him) questions? So that was it in a nutshell...your total sex education. I found humor in your words and could easily relate to each one. But then you tell us of an event after the death of your mother which I found sad but revealing....nobody spoke words like..dead..sex..cancer in those days..it was always hush..hush as if that would change it or make it go away. When I had cancer I was sure I must be very dirty, somehow, as everyone whispered about it and never said the word cancer out loud. Well we have progressed some since then. This is a thoughtful piece which allows us a peek inside of Tom the young boy who never asked why but just accepted everything just like he was told to do. Thanks for sharing this one...it is a joy to read. Peace...Marilyn

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2004-04-09 15:11:07
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
T.: It seems to brim from you: these Salinger-type observations of human behavior. Your poem is a masterpiece of defining your father's character sans mentioning definitive traits. A dentist, a man of science like you, but with the generational differences of expressing emotion. Your title is an apposite TIC for the piece as Dad was unable to talk about things with his son. Your first three stanzas are limned so deftly that I feel I'm a quiet observer in the corner. Your telling description of his working at home, mapping x-rays, his summoning you for the bird/bees talk. I especially like the imagery of the book: "I see the curled corners and dog-eared pages greasy with the grime of an entire school of kids whose parents borrowed this educational tool..." Another great line: "This was as personal as a car wash." This prepares us for the aftermath of your mother's death, the family meeting to discuss details of burial and disposition of her possessions. "Nobody can say the word Dead or Dying, Or explain to me where we came from. And I don't even wonder why not." Very nice and satisfying ending to the portrait of the father. A grouping of family members who have been taught not to discuss matters directly nor openly, who cannot express their feelings to each other. The litotes or understatement of your last line is brilliant. In toto, your poem is admirably accomplished and evocative. It is not merely well-written but extremely touching for me. Bravo! Mell

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