Fatherhood Poem by Jim Coleman

You're free one moment, having fun or not,
as the case may be, rehearsing dreams,
playing the lead role in an unfolding plot
written for you by your destiny:
hero or victim in a tragedy,
a comic in a comedy.
.
and then the next, a primal disgorgement
full of noise and pain, and, feeling faint,
you find yourself assaulted by a violent,
creature shouting ‘Stop! I'm yours! I want!
Give me, or I'll scream myself to death'.
You get no time to catch your breath.
.
And nothing has prepared you for this episode:
when your own life has only just begun,
being pushed off centre stage; demoted
to a minor role, an also-ran,
having to put the interloper's wants
before your own less urgent ones.
.
A messy thing whose life depends on know-how
you've not been taught or given any thought to,
but, with trial and error, somehow
you try as best you can to muddle through
relying on childhood memories
in lieu of expertise.
.
Others proffer contradictory counsel:
'You must allow them to express themselves!
You mustn't block those natural
impulses, urges, or imperatives.'
'No! That's wrong! ' others say. 'There must be
strictly laid down boundaries! '
.
Then when another comes along to provide
the first born sibling company or to match
a picture-book family, you find
they are as different as a dog a cat
calling for unequal strategies
to approximate equality.
.
There are moments when you long to be elsewhere,
wanting to relive your unencumbered
youth, or breathe in the mountain air
on a Himalayan pass surrounded
by silent peaks that ask for nothing more
than your respect and awe.
.
Other creatures nurture their off-spring
for a while but that phase doesn't last.
For us humans there's no easy running
off, not even from the distant past,
which the kids will want to talk about,
and hold you to account.
.
'Why weren't you a better dad? Why did you
get it all so wrong? ' In reply, I think
(but dare not say) I was a learner too.
In our interactions, who was impacting
whom? We've learnt about each other since we first
met, for better and for worse.
.
But all things said and done, when I look back:
the funny chats at the dining table,
cuddled up and reading bed-time books,
fielding questions, most unanswerable,
in spite (or perhaps because) of our flaws,
you're mine for good, and I am yours.