No Take-Backs, No Do-Overs

HOPE


I wish you were 13 and I were your dad,
I'd yank you by the ear all the way
across the parking lot, hurl you into
the waiting car, climb into the driver's
seat, and weep. in. shame.

Yeah, I'd be ashamed what a son of mine
said to his fellow human. what he did
in the name of hate, disgust, or, yeah,
fitting in. group think. impressing
his buddies with how he shared their
values.

But my real shame would be that I
taught you those values. I mean, it was,
well, never something I thought about
much. When I was a kid, my buddies and I
shoved twinky homos into their lockers and
called them queers as they walked down the
hall. We didn't want to be weak like them.

So we sneered and jeered or just made a face
like they exuded the scent of excrement.
We let them know they were nothing. worth
nothing. And as I grew into a man I didn't
think, much, about it, but you saw my face
reacting to that odor whenever those people
came onto the TV screen.

And this morning while you were being cool
with your buds, hassling some poor queer,
your only brother, who used to worship the
ground under your feet, hung himself in the
back yard.

And you are not 13, and I'm not your dad.
But we're both guilty. And if yanking you
by the ear across some parking lot would
bring your brother back, I'd do it. But it
won't. So learn to live with the guilt, like
I have to. Learn to spend every day of the rest
of your life making amends. It won't bring your
brother back, but it is your only hope.

It is our only hope.


© 2010 by Paul Kent Oakley

NOTE ADDED:  Just a bit of clarification: this poem is not autobiographical in any sense. I was one of the queer kids getting harassed in school. The poem grew in the hothouse of the suicides of bullying and harassment victims in September and October here in the US. And it grew from an understanding that bullies don't become bullies in isolation but as members of a culture that devalues people who are perceived as different.

We can't JUST blame the bullies for their actions. We also have to recognize the culpability of parents who actively or carelessly teach their children the lesser worth of people who are different, churches that teach that the nature of some people is an abomination rather than a gift of God, the teachers and school administrators who fail to intervene in bullying, communities who fail to provide safe spaces and support for young people at risk for being bullied because of real or perceived difference.

Quite simply, there is collective guilt in the bullying suicides we've seen on the news. This poem uses a fictional scenario to express a realization of the collective responsibility for protecting and respecting our young people, for building a society where we value people in their individual qualities and encourage all to develop their unique gifts.