Sarah, Our Late Child…by Robert M. Katzman
by Robert M. Katzman / Copyright July 31, 2016
Forward
Written under a hot July sun while sitting alone on a bench in Chicago’s Hyde Park landmark, The Point, a rocky stepped-stone park projecting into Lake Michigan. A long favorite place for swimmers, sunbathers and photographers located about two miles east of the world famous (and still standing) University of Chicago (1890- ), and also about one mile east of the once slightly famous (and now non-existent) Bob’s Newsstand (1965-1985).
I was there waiting to meet an unknown number of much younger people who might possibly recognize a much older me as the guy who sold them lots of candy, and who might assume I still remember them as my customers when they were fourteen and went to Kenwood High School across the street from my first wooden and later brick newsstand, over thirty years ago. Both situations seemed unlikely and as a result encouraged me to finally write down the following poem I’d been carrying around in my head and heart for months.
But, in fact, I did recognize some of their faces after all, since we seem to age unevenly. And a fair number of the now middle-aged parents with children generally recognized me.
Late Child is more or less true, an exception for me since my normal pattern is to strictly stick to a story’s actual facts. But I respect privacy and promised myself years ago, about my writing, to “do no harm”, even if what I leave out would make a much better story. I can live with that.
The idea behind writing this difficult story is the curse of the unavoidable consequences of surrendering one’s heart to compassion. This is not about good or bad. Not about kind or cruel. Essentially, Late Child is about the tyranny of time. I hope after you read it, if you are sincerely moved to write to me about it, well, there’s space to do that below the poem on this site. I read a lot of my work at different places in public, but not this one. Never this one. Finally, there is a subtle evolution of involvement that occurs in my poem. Some of you may catch it, most not.
Late Child
“I want her”
Said the sixty-year-old wife
“We are too old”
Said her sixty-year-old husband
“I need her”
Pleaded his wife
“We will be ancient when she is twenty”
Responded her husband
“I love her”
Beseeched his wife
“What can I do?”
And her husband was silent
What else could he do?
So the Late Child entered their lives
The couple guided her
With words
Having no energy left
For sports, for camping
For Disneyland
But as the years passed
And the Late Child grew older
They both offered her understanding
Together, a century of experience
Answering questions she hadn’t asked yet
Racing to make their Late Child wise
At first confusing to her:
Her friends liked Harry potter
Her parents explained World War One
Told her friendship is the real magic
Her friends liked Hip Hop and Rap
Her parents offered Sinatra and Astaire
The Maltese Falcon and Citizen Kane
Her girl friends discovered boys
Her parents explained long marriages
Her friends went to Great America
And shopping at the Malls
Her parents advised, one day,
That she explore
Architecture in Europe
Waterfalls in Iceland
Her parents saw all her school plays
Then took her to see
Beckett and Shakespeare
Guys ‘n Dolls and David Mamet
Late Child gradually understood
Her parents were
Very Very Different
Her parents read all her school essays
Then bought her
Webster’s International Dictionary
“Learn to use a wider range of words”
They suggested
“Maybe this reference will help you with that”
And Late Child stared
At the forty-pound book
Their hair turning silver
They told her of a thousand years of hate
Between Christians, Moslems and Jews
And suggested when she went to college
She study ways to try and stop all that
Mother was now in a wheelchair
She urgently told Late Child that
A woman could be anything
Go anywhere, do anything
And to never settle for less
And:
“Let no man strike you, ever.
Men like that are poison
But you, Late Child, are gold”
One day her Father sat Late Child down
Said her Mother had cancer
“But I want her to know my children!”
Cried the girl
As their tears flowed freely between them
Once walking together in a busy grocery
Late Child asked if Mother was getting better
Father replied, voice quavering
“Sometimes we fall asleep, holding hands”
And Late Child embraced him
In the frozen food aisle
One day Mother told Late Child
Her Father’s heart was failing
“But I need him to answer so many questions!”
Shrieked the girl
And their tears flowed freely between them
When Late Child turned twenty
Her parents told her that
Their time with her was nearly up
But that they would never leave her
Her Father pointed to a distant hill
“Why, we’ll be right over there,
Just…out of sight”
They had left their daughter
Well-armed with
A questioning mind
A sense of priorities
A deep comprehension of
The world as it really was
Ready to challenge
Whatever life threw her way
But with Indifferent Time
Swiftly and Relentlessly
Now stepping between
Her parents and
Late Child’s open arms
She could only embrace the air
And as their bodies began to fade
Her Mother said,
“We loved her
What else could we do?”
Blending into the horizon with her
Her Father replied,
“Yes, Mother
What else could we do?”
***************************
Publishing News!
Bob Katzman’s two new true Chicago books are now for sale, from him!
Vol. One: A Savage Heart and Vol. Two: Fighting Words
Gritty, violent, friendship, classic American entrepreneurship love, death, heartbreak and the real dirt about surviving in a completely corrupt major city under the Chicago Machine. More history and about one man’s life than a person may imagine.
Please visit my new website: http://www.dontgoquietlypress.com
If a person doesn’t want to use PayPaI, I also have a PO Box & I ship anywhere in America.
Send me a money order with your return and contact info.
I will get your books to you within ten days.
Here’s complete information on how to buy my books:
Vol 1: A Savage Heart and Vol. 2: Fighting Words
My books weigh almost 2 pounds each, with about 525 pages each and there are a total together of 79 stories and story/poems.
Robert M. Katzman
Don’t Go Quietly Press
PO Box 44287
Racine, Wis. 53404-9998 (262)752-3333, 8AM–7PM
Books cost $29.95 each, plus shipping
For: (1)$3.95; (2)$5.95; (3)$7.95; (4)$8.95 (5)$9.95;(6) $10.95
(7) $11.95; (8) $12.95; (9)$13.95 (10)$15.95 (15)$19.95
I am also for hire if anyone wants me to read my work and answer questions in the Chicago/Milwaukee area. Schools should call me for quantity discounts for 30 or more books. Also: businesses, bookstores, private organizations or churches and so on.
My Fighting Words Publishing Co. four original books, published between 2004 and 2007 are now out-of-print. I still have some left and will periodically offer them for sale on my new website.