Parents: Teach Your Children Well

On Friday I picked my son up at Union Station.  He came home for the weekend to go see Corteo with the family.  He has only been at college for a few months.  I miss his smile.  I miss his questions.  He and his girlfriend were so polite. They were being the adults while I was being the child.  I just couldn't help myself.  I told them all about my new job, what I had done that day, what I had done the day before, my plans for the weeks to come.

On the way home in the car, Nathan said, "Hey, Mom.  I've written a new poem."

"Really?" I answered, realizing how selfish I'd been.  "Let's hear it."

And I ask you

Speak to me of freedom? You know not what it means
but take its name and shackle those with whom you disagree
You wave a flag of righteousness; you bellow and you scream
That those who are not as you are they never should have been

Speak to me of god and tell me what he thinks
of bigotry and hatred for the love each person makes
A fellowship, a flock for which you try to build a wall
The blackest sheep is slaughtered as an offering to them all

Speak to me of love and tell me what it takes
to make a love and test it true, the arrow to be straight
One path is true one path is tried one path we will allow
Two people bound in heart and mind but cannot give a vow

Speak to me of law and tell me what is just
a chance for those with tyrant tendencies to run amok
A forum for the many to oppress a hapless few
Virginia is for lovers, but there's no room here for you.

Nathan Revere (Nov. 2006).