This be the verse.

When I was about 17-18, I lived with my father for a short period of time. The previous two years or so had been terribad, with me as the only child being caught in the middle of an exceptionally messy divorce situation. I won’t go into it into too much depth, but it should suffice to say that the first time I knew I’d have peace properly from this all was when I was stood watching my mother’s coffin sink into the ground over 20 years later.

Yet throughout, I still found it within me the capacity to love them both dearly. Sometimes it meant me going over the edge and doing things which I shouldn’t have, in all honesty, been doing. Other times it meant retreating and having friends fight my battles.

The one time that is truly etched into my mind as a moment of unbelieveable mindfuckery though is my father coming into my bedroom when I lived with him, in the foulest of foul tempers, and telling me that my mother was dead.

The other night when I was wearing my GM hat I caught myself stooping to pretty much the same level of fuckwittage with something I said in a pique.  And while  the comment I’d made was  ignored by a couple of folk who knew I’d not stoop to those levels, it caught someone else too, who didn’t. And then still in the pique, I didn’t do anything to redeem my behaviour but instead acted in temper.

I’m not proud of myself for either of those moments.

In retrospect I don’t think my father ever remembered his true moment of fuckwittery or thought that what he said to me at the time was that big a deal. And I know that my mother never realised she was doing anything wrong. For her the idea of me keeping her remarrying secret from my father wasn’t a big deal.

For me, the biggest ongoing fight throughout my life has been trying my damndest not to behave like either of them did. To recognise when I DO make mistakes, and to be as open minded as I can where possible.  To learn from what I do wrong, and try to better myself by doing so. And to not be so proud I can’t apologise for my own mistakes.

The other night was a major mistake on my part, and I sincerely apologise to all those involved.

I also want to remember this because I don’t want to repeat that mistake. Philip Larkin, your poem may be spot on, but I’d damned if I’m not going to fight against being fucked up in my turn!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: