Role Model

All throughout my childhood
I asked myself this one regretful question:

“Why can’t I have a cool dad?”

Now I don’t mean the cool kind,
the kind where he’s hip with the times
or into the latest trends of our world,


But the kind of dad
who doesn’t scream at me
when I didn’t understand his question,
the kind of dad
who doesn’t beat me
when I don’t comply to his demands.

I honestly
can’t think of
a single good memory
that has him in it.

I only hold sour crates
of memories much rather forgotten,
each and every one of them
a reminder that my dad is like
playing Minefield:

Tread lightly,
make careful logical choices,
one small error,
and it’s game over.

Except this game over
is a vicious stab into your confidence,
and a possible ominous forecast
that this is the man you will grow up to be.

I see why mom dumped his sorry fucking ass,
if I were in her worn out tired shoes,
I would’ve done it thrice over.

I would also have
Smashed his face into a brick wall
Stomped on his spine
Just to cause him absolute agony,
and perhaps I would even

I’m sorry.
I’m being carried away in my mother’s shoes.
I know that this is something I wish to do at times,
even though this isn’t proper civilized behavior.

But I can’t help myself because
my dad is in a way
a role model
but in every way of a man I do not want to be
and when I see elements of him within me,
I freak out in absolute horror,
fraught with concern that I am doomed to be
a miserable, lonely man who lashes out
at the unfortunate world around him.

One day,
when I have a son or daughter,
I wish to raise them so that they will ask themselves:

“Why can’t more dads be cool like mine?”