Funny how knees know to callous
even when you are a little girl
whose mother dressed her
in expensive ruffles and patent
leather shoes and prayed her hair
into prim little ringlets Shirley
Temple would have been envious of.
After the bobble of blond was thankfully
over, changing into brother’s
blue jeans was such wry relief
because carpet burns hurt less
with a bit of denim between skin
and the rough place I landed on.
Mother winced, not at my pain,
but at the thought of how scabs
took away from the fantasy child
she thought she had. I was interloping
on her dreams…and how she wished, hoped,
wore her kneecaps to hard pads
that femininity would blossom
in the stick thin body of bony
kneed naughtiness. She’d yank me down
beside her and say her prayers out loud
so, even if god didn’t hear, I would
and perhaps feel guilty enough
to don the dresses other girls wore
to play house in. She dreamed
bad daughters on me; one prayer
at a time, “You deserve,” she say, ruefully,
“one just like you.” She did a good job,
folded over the seat of a chair
and life held, in keeping, the feistiest ones
just to spite me… ones that threw me
prostrate, begging for forgiveness.
Perhaps that worked as well
as my pleadings and pledges
touched the hem of my mother’s benedictions
and she added her best beliefs to mine
that mopping floors was the closest thing
to real praying I had ever done before
it really mattered that my daughters be ladies,
like I was forced to become,
at the hairbrush handle my mother wielded.
Author notes
Dangit I hate she was right.
In a list
A contest entry
- The "This is Sir Ima's contest for the Hugh Wyles Favorites group only" contest by huguenauties.
662 points, ended February 11, 2007, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 21 of 21
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I got the "hairbrush", belt, wooden spoon, shoe, whatever mommy was nearest to. I was a busy, little menace, and knew it. I look back and think, I needed what I got to make me who I am today. I chuckled at your author's note. LOL This reminds me so of my young life. especially;
"whose mother dressed her
in expensive ruffles and patent
leather shoes and prayed her hair
into prim little ringlets Shirley
Temple would have been envious of."
I think it all had to do with the era. The "Shirley Temple curls" crossed boundaries like no other hair style of the time. LOL Me and my sister both wore them whenever mommy thought we should be dressed up. Excellent work here. Thanks for sharing these personal details of you with the reader, and so very well you did your sharing. I wish you the best in this challenge.
Much Love ♥
Renee
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Mine would talk before spanking. benjamin, I don't want you to be good because I want you to be good. I want you to be good because you want to be good! My sister, who was my shadow, would shinny climb the TV antannae, a piece of fence top rail, onto the roof, where we played. we each developed scabs on the top of the foot arch. Mine on left foot, hers on right. Baffled the parents, matching strawberries, until they caught us on the roof.
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Dear Carol,
I know how you feel in respect of the way's our Mother's expected us to behave. I was such a strong willed child my Mum would try to break me,she didn't succeed but it left us enstranged. I never received the hair brush but I did receive slaps across the head. I'm pleased your daughter's turned out well and I reckon they have a kind and compassionate Mum who learnt by her own experience. Well done Carol
I wish I could give you 1000 applauses.
Jen.
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Oh I still tried to ringlet my girls hair and waxed my baby boys' hair up into a little curled mohawk from the day they were born...but I never used the handle...lol...
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Brilliant
Dear Carol, This is brilliantly written, it's hard being a girl as Mum's expect more out of us. It's sad that you had to suffer the hair brush, but I'm happy your expectations of your own daugher turned out and proved your Mum wrong.
My Mum also used to make me dress up, but I was such a tomboy she had no hope, to make matters worse I used to split all my dresses down the middle.Poor Mum, neighbours used to give her some old dresses of their's as being the war years we had coupons to buy everything and with my Dad away at the war there wasn't much money around and my Aunty used to make dresses for me out of the material. I'd have them all ripped within a week.
Joan
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I remember from my childhood the phrase, "I'll give you something to cry about", as if emotional pain and its invalidation were not enough suffering for a little child.
Your examination is unsparing and detailed - how your mother was, and why life is what it is. This is excellent in all ways.
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Oh yes, and dad used to say "Dry up", of course he also used to say "wipe that grin off your face before I do it for you," which was such an idle threat and always made the grin wider.
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Dear Carol,
So you got the hairbrush eh?
With me, it was the razor-strop across the back of the legs at home, the wooden jam-spoon at Primary School and the cane at College (both the latter on the buttocks). I like to think though, that they taught me to be a gentleman - I do try, most of the time!
I love the nostalgia in your poem.
Good luck in the contest and love and hugs, XXX Hugh R.
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Yes, and I still sdit very still for hairdressers. I guess that is all I learned.
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You never really know anyone until you've walked a mile in their shoes (where have I heard that before?).
My next unoriginal thought is "Isn't it amazing how much smarter our mothers become the older we get?"
Enjoyed your poem very much and the photo of you and your brother! I'm glad you entered the contest..I feel I know you (and your mother) so much better now.
Maureen
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she was a wonderful gift to me... I saved her, she saved me, I saved her, she is still saving me.
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excellent~
An excellent poem sweetie
But it made me feel so sorry for you I cringed when I read the last line..Like I was forced to become the hairbrush handle my mother wielded...
Best of luck in the contest..
Love n hugs
Susan~~~
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Neither my brother nor I ever got a spanking, but that dang hairbrush.....lord, I could not stop wriggling.
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"changing into brother’s
blue jeans was such wry relief
because carpet burns hurt less
with a bit of denim between skin
and the rough place I landed on."
Brother's??? I had my OWN. 
I was sent home from school one day in the 5th grade; the teacher told me "to come back dressed as a little girl". I wanted to spit on her shoes or somethin'. 
How the Hell can anyone play kickball in a dress??? My mother permed my hair when I was young...as blonde as you are here...& ohhh, how I hated it...I couldn't wait until it grew out so I could put it back into pigtails or let it fly loose on the wind...Ahhh, what a wondrous penning, my Sister...& don'tcha know...our bloodline grows closer each & every day... Good luck in the contest, my Friend... Wanda
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Gosh, I remember when we could finally wear jeans to school.....no more cold air up the skirst, no more ugly brown stockings...and whoo ho running shoes. LOL.
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Priceless
This is such a true to life piece, Carol.
I love the picture and your story. Funny how things we think we hate as children, we grow up the better for it.
I'm part Indian and I think maybe our mothers had the same mother... my humbleness came in the form of polishing the Duncan Fife formal dining room set which was my Mamma's pride and joy, and MY job, every Saturday, to polish it with Johnsons paste wax, then buff it to a high gloss. How I hated that table, I swore to myself at a very young age that I'd never own a piece of Duncan Fife.
This is a delightful story, though I do feel for you, for the ... ahem.. 'suffering' you went through as a child.
The little boy in the picture ... he looks like my little brother Chuck, when he was about that age. Your brother ?? I bet we do have the same grandmother...LOL
Good luck in the contest
Dee
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If the rest of the poems are as good as this, I will be more than pleased with this contest.
I never had kids so I don't know that desire to see my children become extensions of me. I've felt it of course from my own parents...maybe more so from my own sense of fitting in than their pressure, but pressure it was.
I like the transition: and life held, in keeping, the feistiest ones just to spite me…
A touch of sadness and humor there, handled adeptly.
I do wonder what poems your daughters will write or are writing and the poem reminds us that we really do learn from our parents whether we want to or not.
Was she right? I find that an interesting comment since the poem indicates a sense of regret at not having been allowed to be a kid. I guess you are sufggesting that it made you into that lady...don't you think you'd have got there even if you'd been allowed to scrape knees, etc?
And see, that is the point of this contest. To show the reader something about you. Ok, it's really just a contest so I can have some good stuff to comment on...but lets make believe I'm more altruistic than that.
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Loved these lines~touched the hem of my mother’s benedictions
and she added her best beliefs to mine/ it really mattered that my daughters be ladies,
like I was forced to become,
at the hairbrush handle my mother wielded.
We've got to wear it well my sister,as we know now.She meant it for our own good.~~Suseann BTW~The whole piece has brought back memories all to well.I think it's a universal code sworn be all Moms.
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I could have titled this Faith at the Backhandle of My Mother's Brush
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This is so cute. I love the picture...This really gave an insight into the woman you are now..But I know you sister, the real you...so you better pay me well to shut up..LOL
Great work...it was so enjoyable to read
Soulful Woman
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Uh oh
<---goes to back of hut and starts making up some love potion to waylay her truth-telling.
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