Standing on the front seat,
Of my dad’s vintage car,
My head didn’t quite touch the roof,
Until we struck a mud-hole, then ‘Ouch’.
Winding trails, avoiding rocks and fallen trees,
I swayed into mom one moment and then smacked into dad.
I somehow felt like a big girl now.
Mom, my heroine; dad my hero,
As if we were in the movies.
They made me feel like their star,
Kind of like their special ‘Shirley Temple’.
Those times now long gone,
I birthed my own Shirley Temple’s,
My own Mickey Rooney’s.
Did I manage to make them feel special,
More important than anyone else on earth,
Or was I too into myself and what was going on?
It kind of makes me wonder now,
All the work that seemed so important at the moment.
Did I take the time,
Could I have done better?
No second chances once they’ve grown up!
Way back when, when times were really tough,
There seemed to be more time on our hands.
Or am I making that up?
Nothing wrong with work,
Nothing wrong with play.
It’s how important we make a child
Feel. That’s the important thing at hand.
How do we make a child feel like a star?
Our words, in hand with actions,
Are what build up or leave scars.