Eventually, when Dad was too tired from having taught me by beating me so much (and I could clearly learn no more), he would leave the room, while you remained, and you would stand back and watch me shed my childish tears.
After you had seen enough of my childish tears (I am sorry that they hurt you, Mom) you would take me to your room, where Dad sat on the edge of the bed crying
as if he were a little child himself.
You would look in to my childish eyes and tell
me how much Dad loved me
(I loved him too, Mom) and
how deeply I had hurt him
but that I had left him with no choice but to continue to
teach me my life lessons.
You would tell me how it broke Dad's heart to have to teach
me the same thing (it broke
mine to, Mom) over and over
and over again and that he wouldn't have to do so if I
would just change and be
the good boy that the two of
you expected me to be.
©ronvdm777
July 2020
©ronvdm777
R