Disappointment

I know he did better than his dad

By far

But am I still entitled

To my pain?

He never hit me

Not once

So I guess

He was a pretty good dad

When I called him Daddy

And he called me Sport

He was my hero

I rode with him in his great big truck

Held his hand in the hardware store

Wondering at those big flat pencils

Inhaling the manly scent of lumber

But

Most of my early memories

Of dad

Were of absence or apprehension

"Be good

Be quiet

Dad's almost home"

Dad didn't want the noise

Of children

After long, hard days

Of providing for us

I hid in my room

Afraid of upsetting him

While he hid

In front of the television

Keeping inside as much as I could

Knowing without being told

That if he saw me cry

He'd be disgusted

Because I was too old for that

He never said aloud

He hated sensitivity

But kids always

Know

I tried to please him

When he put me to work

In the heat of a summer afternoon

I wilted in the pounding sun

He could never get too much sun

But I was pouring sweat

And swallowing back vomit

He hated sensitivity

And the contempt on his face

When I had to quit lest I pass out

Made me hate myself

Layer by layer

I hid myself

Swallowed all of the ways

I was not

What he'd wanted

I bit my tongue

When he rattled off coarse jokes

About people of different colours

Or spouted insulting jeers

About homeless people

Or bleeding heart liberals

Or homos

My tongue didn't stay between my teeth

Despite all the times he'd said

"Don't ever _____

Or I'll disown you"

I had to break free

Say what I felt

What I believed

Who I was

I wasn't his Sport anymore

And even after decades

I still agonize between

Honesty and avoiding a fight

Still I wish sometimes

We could just be silent

Ride in his truck to the hardware store

Inhale the potent scent of lumber

And pretend everything's okay

But he never hit me

Or kicked me out

And deep down I know

His bluster and contempt

Were always rooted in fear

I am unafraid

So I guess I will count

My blessings