House mother

House mother

 

Who devotes her life

To breakfasts

To bed checks

To housing the young.

 

We’ve had hundreds of girls stay here.

We used to have six girls to one room.

Please personalize it to your own.

Make this your temporary home.

 

Welcome in

Before I say goodbye.

My husband will take care of you

As soon as I die.

 

You see I’m 97 years old

But I’ve enjoyed my stay.

Thank you for the adventures

And take care of each other.

 

Sincerely,

I. S.

A college house mother.

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Being a BUG

Being a BUG

“I wonder if I could be a bug,”

and I laugh and tell her, “yes you can sweetie, you can be what ever you want to be.”

but then I realize,

I just told my cousin that she can be a bug.

for a living.

she’s going to grow up and go into kindergarten and tell everyone that she is in kindergarten and a half-

and when they ask what she wants to be when she grows up, unlike her classmates who might say an astronaut or princess or a fairy or a fireman she’s going to say “I want to be a bug.”

and when they ask why she’s going to say “because my cousin Hannah told me I could be any insect I wanted to be.”

then they’ll laugh at her and look at me and ask the same question “what do you want to be”?

But at my age I know a bug isn’t a logical answer.

by now our parody of Hamlet’s to be or not to be an astronaut speech has hopefully formed an idea of a degree.

a biologist, a physicist, a therapist, or a dental hygienist,

because high school was supposed to have made each one of us a genius.

Yet here she is planning to become an insect,

perhaps a moth or a cricket-

and all thanks to me

she knows now what she wants to be!

my solace comes when she’s grown up I know that won’t be her answer,

because now we’re supposed to be more serious

and anything childish makes us sound almost delirious.

But I don’t want to grow up!

I want to be a bug and tell those stupid adults to shut up!

I want to be a princess and not a college student,

and own the freedom to be a little imprudent.

I want to have recess and sleep with my teddy bears,

and continue as she does still without cares.

Because growing up sucks!

as we prepare to move out and pack up our trucks.

I can’t help but wonder,

What if my parody hasn’t quite ended?

is that really grounds enough for those who ask to be discontented?

to be or not to be a biologist, and if so, of what kind?

they want a real answer this time.

So when they ask again, when we’re all sitting outside,

I’ll stand by Elena and say “I’m going to be a bug until I decide.”