To all the Fathers

For every failing a woman may find in men, there is a great many daily heroic acts women conveniently forget. Like unblocking the drains, wiping dog’s do do off children’s shoes, which are put in the shed and accidentally on purpose forgotten.

Who do those; not so fragile creatures, push out of bed, in the middle of a cold night to investigate the strange noises they just heard?

      Then there is the expectation, as the other half of the double act of parenthood is male, so they should be able to put shelves up straight and sort the car out with no bother or fuss. Just as the female half has a natural understanding of all things maternal and a simplistic ability to clean and cook, don’t they?

      Then, when the children are thrust upon the fathers and looked after in a male way, they are soundly criticized and then severally tutted at!

      As I look back with great fondness on those all important tickling fights and the things I learned from my dad, that my mum had no knowledge or inclination for, I mellow as a mother. I remember with a childlike fondness, at the rimes he got me out of trouble and made me feel better.

      In short my dad was my very own hero. I look on with a mother’s eye and thankfully see history repeat its’ self. So these poems are my tribute to all the unsung heroes, bless their little cotton sock always in sandals X

A Fathers lot

I peek through the window

There they are, waiting for me

I am late, tired and weary

They – full of joy and energy

I look at the girl I married

And see a woman;

A mother

 
I hover the key a fraction From its hole

To summon up the energy

To enter the role of fatherhood

They hear the latch

And greet me with swords,

Prized home work,

With an array of broken toys.

A cup of tea is brought before me

But no time is given,

To sip its refreshing properties

For he is Legolas

I’m the big baddie.

I dramatically fall

And die upon the carpet

Only to be jumped on

I hear a pleading voice

That pines out

“Daddy you promised”

And the mother frowns upon me

For not drinking

What is now a cold cup of tea.

 
I sigh as I trudge off

To read the same book again

The words of which send me to sleep.

Warm and cosy

As we cuddle ready to read

My daughter tells me of her day

I look at her face and marvel

This is my child

I look around the room

With its toys and posters

How did this happen?

How could this be?

My baby,

How she has grown.

 

I walk to my son’s room

We talk for a while

Until his voice falters

And slips into sleep.

 
Last job done

A shower then bed

Gone have the nights of passion

The surprise of delicate nighties

So has the romance she says

But its not, its just inside my head

Nothing I do is right

I pick the wrong time

Or wrong mood

But there are only twenty-four hours in a day

Not forty-eight

 
“Come on sleepy head

Get out, Get out of bed”.

My body starts into action

I’m half dressed

When they confess

Its Saturday

They joyfully run

Laughing down stairs.

   

There they are again

I feel as if I’m an outsider

They are busy doing naturally

Their day-to-day routine

“Brunch is on the table” She calls

I look its half past ten.

 

Gone has the bike on the drive

Replaced by a family car

That cost nearly as much as the house.

It came as a shock

How much extra you need

When out and about with children

Nothing gets done anymore at speed

Or just as a whim

Everything is planed-

Organized.

 
We go looking at sofas

It pleases her

But strikes me with boredom and fear.

The children behave impeccably

Giving good advice on which

Would be the best

Comfort and colour disgusted

“Which one shall we have”?

They say

“Non” she says

“Daddy’s worked too hard

I’ll not have him work any harder

But one day we’ll

Have that one”

So I’m under no pressure then!

As we sit in the evening

On our warn out sofa

Drinking a glass or two of wine

Eating a bar or two of chocolate

Surrounded by love

I think to my self

How lucky I am

Though the pressure is immense

And work so dammed hard

Best not mentioned

Freedom a thing of the passed

I look across

That worn out sofa

And see that girl again

Her smile

Their laughter

What would I rather

Freedom without the pressure

Or the smiles,

And the laughter

With the memories of love.

I guess I’ll just have

To learn

To be free

On a worn out

Sofa.

This next poem is dedicated to Kev. It’s his favourite and though written for children it resonates with adults just as much though on a different level.

     It depicts a father’s view. After working all week all he really needs is to wake up in his own time, slowly moving into a lazy Sunday. I have a lot of empathy for this view point, but as mere mother, would know nothing about hard work all week, now would I? But alas parenthood is not a weekly job that gives you a weekend free.

     So reluctantly this cocooned father dragged from his comfy bed and is wrestled back into family life. A knowing glance between the parents, which hold such understanding and respect, makes Kev revere it so.

The Grumpy Sulky Struggle

There is a Grumpy Sulky;
Curled up at the bottom of my mum’s bed
And it wriggles all the way to the top
Just before it pops out its head,
It gruffly grunts,
"It’s time for you to get out of my bed!"

It starts to wriggle and giggle,
So much that the bed wobbles,
And out pops my sister onto the floor.
Now it’s got me ,
Can’t you see?
Its big humped back.
It squirms its worm shape
Into the middle of the bed,
Oh! No! I’m dune for,
As I make a big thump on the floor.
"That’s two out" it snorts one more."

Then my mum hits the floor,
And we hear a big roar.
"If you don’t want any more
Run for your lives."
"Not likely" we reply,
And jump on the beast.
My sister had its feet,
She is hanging on like a limpet
Her legs wrapped around and
Tickling for all she is worth.
I’ve got the pillow,
Bashing the monster like mad.
Mum is pulling on its arms
With all her might,
She is fighting bravely with the beast.
"No! Not to-day
It’s Sunday."

But we don’t listen,
As we thwack, pull and tickle together
"Give up!" It bellows.
"Never!" we shout.
At last it starts to slip and slide
We all heave together,
Closer to the edge of the bed,
Grumpy Sulky fumbles.
Then it thuds to the floor.

"Lets uncover the Grumpy Sulky
So he can’t get away!"
We triumphantly cry.

In a fighting frenzy we unwrap him,
But the Grumpy Sulky is not there,
It’s only our Dad.
Me and my sister look every where
For the Grumpy Sulky
But he is no where to be seen.

Mum smiles and kisses our dad,
"What would you like for breakfast
My Grumpy Sulky?" She asks
"Cheese on toast" he replies.

We can see our Grumpy Sulky is no more!
Dad gives us that look he has
With smiley eyes and his big cheesy grin.
"We’ve beaten the Grumpy Sulky
We’ve beaten the Grumpy Sulky"
We happily sing.

Have a great day