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Poem Daughter of Mine

Updated on February 19, 2017 | Source

Raising Kids

When I was raising my children advice and cautions, on what to do right did abound. Every book that I read had different advice. I'd ask my friends what's their strategy, but again, everyone had a different theory.

I felt very strongly about some things I saw. Letting children "act out their feelings" was really wrong. Learning to accept loss with respect, is what I would expect.

Instead, shaking your opponents hand at the end and saying, "Good job" was not on the menu. Rather to exclaim, "I was robbed!" and start a squabble. Giving awards, even to the losers, was confusing to me, let alone the others.

I knew back then, like I know today, raising children in that manner wouldn't pay. As parents we need to instill respect. You lost the game, keep your feelings in check! Maybe, try, making friends. Then you can learn how he/she came to win. It's not the end of the world if you lose. Congratulate the winner, he/she tried too. Tried so hard he/she won, "Good Job!"

But, no, that's not how it was done. If they didn't win, then the whole thing was no fun. The loser expected to receive honors. If they lost, they didn't settle, not until they too, got a metal.

I see the results of raising kids this way. Just look at President Trump and all the spoiled children complaining, "No way". It appears our daughters are the ones making the biggest fuss, so this poem is to daughters who we may have screwed up.

Source | Source


You are my daughter;
it is plain to see.

All blue eyes, and blonde hair;
like your daddy and me.

It was me who raised you;
make no mistake.

I take the blame for all of your hate;
I should have taught you, but now it's too late.

I raised you as best that I knew how;
hugs and kisses, did I bestow.

Fun and games, vacations too,
but discipline and respect I admit were few.

Today, I rue, I must pay for my mistakes;
why didn't I ever give you a few spanks?

A few spanks might have taught you to hold your tongue;
especially when you're talking to your mum.

I let you run all over my feelings;
you say rude things without even seeing.

You bicker, you moan, you speak words afoul;
oh Dear Lord, I messed up on her somehow!

You've traded me in for your latest boyfriend;
but you always want me back when they come to an end.

We were very close at one time;
so close that I couldn't see the line.

The line that should be between yours and mine;
the line that says, "Show respect all the time."

Now you're out in the world with your words and your hate;
I beg the Dear Lord that you wake up someday.

I pray you wake up to recover;
a closeness we had like no other.


Submit a Comment

  • Msmillar profile image

    Joanna 12 months ago from Valley Springs

    Thank you threekeys. Just writing this poem was liberating for me.

  • threekeys profile image

    Threekeys 12 months ago from Australia

    Admitting that parenting is challenging and that you made mistakes along the way, was a self respecting act, in my personal opinion. Too often parents can play/have the authouritarian God complex and never say "Im sorry". I hope your daughter breaks the loop. You were courageous here.

  • Oscarlites profile image

    Oscar Jones 12 months ago from South Alabama

    This is a worthy hub/ poem, MsMillar. the things I did, or thought I did to show love to my girls wasn't always perhaps what they needed. the times they were corrected were resented however. Its the nature of the world we live in. Its not like the 60's, or 70's anymore. not even like the 80's or nineties anymore. But know this. Your daughters HAVE a mother, and you are it! they better appreciate! yes they go through a lot, and sometimes they will push you aside, to get where they THINK they need to go in life, and in their minds, your protectiveness might stand in the way. JUST relax, however. they know where you are. they will call on you when they're in trouble. Life tends to give the spankings that were overlooked. :) Love is not like a basket of apples, that are brought all at once, but love is the many times the apple was put in the lunchbox by devotion, by mothers hands. be patient. send out prayers, that only love can deliver. many times I have prayed on my daughters behalf, holding up their hands in mine to a loving God who can better take take of them than I can, especially when they are gone from me.