Mostly, I think, that I would, idk, do something wilful and crazy and ruin myself. It wouldn't have taken much, in his mind. It's like he spent my whole childhood bracing himself for teen rebellion, though on the whole I was a pretty mild teenager.
Maybe write a poem about your poem? Dad tried to spank me and I ran away and locked myself in the bathroom. He laughed and laughed. A story I love to remember.
I locked it from the inside. Mom was not around. She would not have been amused and would have chided Dad for not being tough. He was the softie who loved our naughtiness as much as or perhaps more than our good behavior.
I, too, wish you could find that long lost sonnet, so at least you could put your mind to rest that a)it was really bad or b) was great and you were ahead of your time in the poetry genre. And no, someone who bangs your head into the wall and doesn't seem to care that he did was a red flag that you rightfully took note of. I agree with you that we shouldn't dwell on old stories, unless a really good one is unearthed and you have no choice but to share it.
I would like to see those poems again. All I can remember is that I rhymed "Zihuatenejo" (the beach town) and also zocalo and other Spanish words in various ways, part of the mess I expect. I'm still figuring out what to do with my own stories, as well as the tales others have built around me.
If the magazine was Zirkus and the editor was me, I apologize. What the hell did we know?
I don't remember the magazine title but the editor wasn't you. What did we know? Absolutely nothing.
Why was he terrified by you?
Mostly, I think, that I would, idk, do something wilful and crazy and ruin myself. It wouldn't have taken much, in his mind. It's like he spent my whole childhood bracing himself for teen rebellion, though on the whole I was a pretty mild teenager.
He did seem a bit overwhelmed by a house of females!
Maybe write a poem about your poem? Dad tried to spank me and I ran away and locked myself in the bathroom. He laughed and laughed. A story I love to remember.
My dad was amused by me but also terrified, as was his wont. Locking yourself in the bathroom was a boss move! How did they get you out again?
I locked it from the inside. Mom was not around. She would not have been amused and would have chided Dad for not being tough. He was the softie who loved our naughtiness as much as or perhaps more than our good behavior.
Your mom has always been the lady who gets it done, a quality my mom admires very much
Aw, that’s nice. She certainly was!
I, too, wish you could find that long lost sonnet, so at least you could put your mind to rest that a)it was really bad or b) was great and you were ahead of your time in the poetry genre. And no, someone who bangs your head into the wall and doesn't seem to care that he did was a red flag that you rightfully took note of. I agree with you that we shouldn't dwell on old stories, unless a really good one is unearthed and you have no choice but to share it.
I would like to see those poems again. All I can remember is that I rhymed "Zihuatenejo" (the beach town) and also zocalo and other Spanish words in various ways, part of the mess I expect. I'm still figuring out what to do with my own stories, as well as the tales others have built around me.