Today my 3 year old said “I don’t like you!” for the first time. It was pretty funny…there was such angst-ridden passion in her voice, her face pinched into a sincere little scowl. She followed it up ten seconds later with “Mom what’s for breakfast?” in her normal sing-songy voice, the fleeting emotions of a three-year old restored to normal order. It reminded me of a poem I wrote when I was ten years old for my parents; I left it for them as I stewed over whatever injustice they had meted out on me – probably forcing me to eat my dinner or turn off the TV. The only memory I have of writing the poem was this: as annoying as my parents were, they still were the link between me and dinner.
Parents are rude, and mean sometimes,
They’re unfair, almost not caring for a soul,
Except, for themselves.
Parents are guardians, wow! Big Deal!
They think they can bounce you like a ball,
In a pinball machine.
Not me! No sir-ree
They can rant and rave all they want,
But they will never control me inside,
They will never try to make me think their way.
Because parents are older bullies,
That will always be there,
Be there in rough times,
Be there in fun times,
Always bossy, and always mean.
I hate big bullies!
But I still like them, because they
take care of me.