The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Tuesday and Kiparoo Farm

Like Him
By Aaron Smith

I'm almost forty and just understanding my father
doesn't like me. At thirteen I quit basketball, the next year
refused to hunt, I knew he was disappointed, but never
thought he didn't have to like me
to love me. No girls. Never learned
to drive a stick. Chose the kitchen and mom
while he went to the woods with friends who had sons
like he wanted. He tried fishing -- a rod and reel
under the tree one Christmas. Years I tried
talking deeper, acting tougher
when we were together. Last summer
I went with him to buy a tractor.
In case he needs help, Mom said. He didn't look at me
as he and the sales guy tied the wheels to the trailer, perfect
boy-scout knots. Why do I sometimes wish I could be a man
who cares about cars and football, who carries a pocketknife
and needs it? It was January when he screamed: I'm not
a student, don't talk down to me! I yelled: You're not smart enough
to be one! I learned to fight like his father, like him, like men:
the meanest guy wins, don't ever apologize.


We had a pretty quiet Monday. Paul had to work in the morning and Adam had his last driving lesson in the afternoon, so I did chores and finally got most of the holiday cards in the mail. Daniel got some good news about his grades; he was worried about a couple of finals but didn't get less than an A-, and he's getting an A+ in one class.

It rained all day, so I didn't get a lot of exercise, though I did goof off with Adam playing with Legos (ever since mamadracula got me that Lego mug, I've been hunting for appropriate Lego figures, many of which were buried in a big bin from which son made me a spaceship while I was looking for little swords and hair). I even put together a Snape.

We all watched Snake Eyes, which the kids hadn't seen and which still has an awesome opening tracking shot; it's one of Nic Cage's better performances and Sinise and Gugino are good as always. Here are a few pics from Kiparoo Farm in the snow the weekend before last, both the wool and woolens and the sheep that make them possible:


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