All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

William Shakespeare

 

 

You learn young to play your part,

Tap dancing with those hated ringlets bobbing,

Hoping to earn your mother’s favor

And win a place in her heart

By being chosen The Shirley Temple Look Alike.

 

 

Between the tap dance lessons and shopping trips,

Life is hard for you—

Growing up during the Depression,

The only child of a woman

Who hardly knew how to love a child,

Who knew young the loneliness of a mother’s desertion,

But not the steadfast nurturing of a mother’s love.

 

 

Growing up in your Hollywood world,

Day after day, in your usherette uniform

You drink in Scarlet’s lessons—

Keep up appearances at all costs and

Worry about the consequences tomorrow.

 

 

Dancing to Benny Goodman’s Big Band sounds,

As war tears apart the world around you,

You play your part—college coed, sorority sister.

You pose on the beach with your friends

Showing off your Betty Grable legs for the camera.

 

 

You study hard

Those beautiful women who win love and affection,

Starring in your treasured Hollywood films that are

Sandwiched between war news reels,

Showing a world at the mercy of a powerful enemy.

 

 

After graduation you secretly audition for yet another part,

Hoping that the recruiting poster’s promise is true

That “you’ll be happy too, and proud serving as a

Woman Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service.”

Much to your parents’ dismay, you are chosen.

 

 

Living in Post-war Suburbia,

Day after day, in your starched shirtwaist

You take your cues from Donna Reed and Harriet Nelson—

Keep a spotless house at all costs, bake like Betty Crocker

For daughters who hope to earn your favor.

 

 

Between the PTA meetings and library trips,

Life is hard for you—

Raising a family in the fifties,

Vowing not to raise an only child,

To be the mom who knows how to love a child

To be a mom who doesn’t leave,

Who nurtures her daughters with her steadfast love.

 

 

You study hard

Those stacks of child-rearing books,

Hoping to find answers with your treasured library card,

Hiding your loneliness and uncertainty,

Fearing enemies who threaten your middle class world.

 

 

As the years pass, you audition for many parts,

Cooking Julia’s French recipes,

Decoupaging our entry with National Geographic maps,

Studying the pages of Better Homes & Gardens,

Memorizing Martha Stewart’s tips for glamorous living.

 

 

Middle class appearances, however, do not fill the void

That threatens to tear your soul apart.

With false bravado, you stand tall and strong,

While weedy consequences of merely playing parts

Begin to overtake the secret garden of your heart.

 

 

Stubbornly you stand with folded arms,

Refusing the messy embraces of boisterous grandsons

Who know nothing of Donna Reed or  Martha Stewart.

But who want the nurturing embrace of a grandmother

Who never really did know just how to love a child.

 

June 6, 2004