Standing on One Foot

Standing on One Foot

One day as I was standing on one foot

In the back corner of the classroom

Punishment for causing commotion in the class

The superintendent knocked on the door,

Stuck his bald head inside and called my name

Students turned their heads wondering

What other rules had I violated this time.

The teacher relinquished my sentence knowing

A harsher retribution was bound to come about

I schlepped to the principal’s office

Not having a clue what was going on

To me it was always a bad omen

When authorities were involved.

I walked in the office packed with teachers, staff and parents

Stunned to see my father in the middle chatting with the principal of mine

The room suddenly plunged into silence I was gazed like exotic animal

Nervously I stared at my shoes and listened

To the teachers’ dismay with my grades and my lack of respect for the rules

Reported to my father by the principal.

As he went through a long list of misconducts in class and in the yard,

Referred to low grades in math, reading, history and art,

My father nodded in agreement, approved every charge and added

“I fully support your reprimands to teach this difficult child of mine.”

He then pointed his index finger at his son and announced,

“Everyone! Please look at his attire, his dirty long nails, messed up hair, filthy shoes

Is this how a decent pupil goes to school?

You don’t believe Sir how many times his mother and I tell him right from wrong

We simply cannot control him at home anymore.

You have my blessing to do what it takes to discipline this rowdy son of mine.”

As I was chewing my nails, head dropped down wondered how guilty I really was.

My sense of humor, the funny observations, sharp comments I made in class

The roots of all my problems I learned from my father and no one else.

In all family gatherings I remembered he behaved that way and cheered my antics too every time.

My hyperactivity, lack of patience, despise I had for order and laws

I inherited from my mother’s side,

As a matter of fact, my grandpa was an anarchist for crying out loud.

And now that my parents’ traits bestowed upon me, engrained in my genes

Went haywire and I was out of control, fingers were pointed at me

As if I was an alien born out of this world.

At the exact moment of weakness, the lowest point in my life

My own flesh and blood, my father disowned me in public, was not on my side.