Bringing you into the world
was a half-cocked plan,
born of accident and bravado.
Of one thing I was certain:
I would do better than my parents.
My smart resolve soon fell away
into the ruts of their well-worn path.

From the Box Store of Beliefs,
I bought a large suitcase.
Around scratchy clothes and 
tight shoes, I arranged for you 
all the useless nothings 
Of Propriety and how.it.is.supposed.to.be.

I watched that unwieldy valise 
bounce against your new knees.
I knew this was best for you   
because Important Things are Heavy 
and keeping a grip on Big Truths 
takes tenacity and brute strength.

As the years went by,
The pillars of what I thought 
I knew, what I thought was true,
Toppled.  
 
I remembered
The dream of another way,
Of the path that says:
It is never too late to let go 
of the Warping Weight.

It is not too late 
For us
to slide that clunker 
out the rear car door 
into a backwash ditch. 

Now, I’m buying you a big bandana
and a stick.

I’m packing you a bundle
Of deodorant and daring 
and creativity and chapstick
and sriracha and compassion
and fuzzy socks and
the salve of let.it.go and 
the balm of how.it.could.be. 

I will watch you set off, 
A bright bandana ball bobbing behind you.

Yes, that will be a happy way to release you into the world.