Shame about Grace

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Mon, 24 Feb 2014
  • 725 reads
6 comments
 
Grace was sacrosanct at my father’s table.
Manners maketh man, his philosophy.
 
We were girls, though, me and my sister,
so what it had to with us we never did know;
forbidden, as we were, to speak one word
until our meal was finished.  Heaven help us
if we wasted a crumb of what the Lord 
saw fit to give to us.
 
Thankfully, family meals were few; the exception
rather than the rule, what with Mum’s shifts
at the hospital laundry, and him – on the buses.
 
How about Mum, though?  
Peeling spuds – fingers red raw, juggling
her job with taking care of us.
Where was her thanks?
 
She was OK, was Mum. Saved up 
to buy Tizer...weekends, mostly.  Pink Champagne,
we called it.  Went to our heads, right enough,
and the fizz, to our noses – gave us the giggles, 
like it did that Sunday;
 
couldn’t hold them in, even though we knew
it would end in tears, and some.
 
And sure enough, he’d stand up; dab the corners 
of his mouth with a napkin – smooth back 
his Brylcreemed hair, leave the room 
and not say a dickie...
 
He’d be outside, in the passage...biding
his time.  Torture it was, until the door-knob
turned,  and our hearts dropped like a stone.  
 
Then he’d come back in – undo his belt 
from his slacks – flex it in his hands.  Say,
This’ll wipe that smile off your face...ask
 
Are we ready, Mother? in rhetoric, 
and then he’d get stuck in.
 
But, in all honesty, hats off to him...Dad,
I mean, because he wasn’t all daft.  Knew a thing 
or two about psychology, obviously.  
 
It always did the trick.  No
more the banter...no 
more the chat. 
 
The sting of leather 
saw to that...
 
For what we are about to receive – may
the Lord make us truly grateful...still
unwinding from our ears.
 
We survived, though, like you do, and years later...
sitting with my own lot round the table...
laughter is obligatory, and grace
a dirty word.
 
Certificate 15
Poem
Unclassified

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

You know Tina I could relate to this piece of writing,  but in a slightly different way.  It was my Grandad who was the strict one and like you,  we dare not speak at the table and we had to eat all our food up,  or else!

How times have changed and that old discipline never hurt us,  like you said it made us appreciative.

This not only took me back,  but makes me realise how lucky I was to have been around then,  even though times were hard.

Thank you for sharing.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hello there, Jenny.

Thanks for sharing your thoughts, too.

Times have changed, you are right.  Mealtimes for my family were such an important part of my children's growing up. We discussed everything under the sun, and more.  My childhood was so different, and I wouldn't want to go back to those days...for anything in the world.

Hope you have a good week.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Honest writing, Tina. I like that whatever your personal view, you try to get an all round picture. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Many thanks, Bee, for sharing your much valued thoughts.

Tina

 

Submitted by Denzella on

Hello Tina,

I'm confused, this poem seems at odds with what I have read previously.  Though I see it is listed as unclassified so perhaps not personal experience.  Very clever use of

'For what we are about to receive – may

the Lord make us truly grateful...still

unwinding from our ears.'

Moya

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

I thought this one might throw you, and yes, you are partly right in your assumption.  I might get around to telling the whole of the story, one of these dayswink

Tina