Welcome to the school of hard knocks,
Where I always had to pull up my socks.
Nothing ever comes easy; that’s for sure,
Things came my way I simply had to endure.
I went to Kindergarten a year too young;
I sat dazed in the classroom and had no fun.
First year grade school I couldn’t learn to read;
I had no firm ground in which to plant my seed.
The outside world seemed to be an alien place;
I didn’t even know I was part of the human race.
I was just a little kid in the school of hard knocks;
I was just a shy little tyke and not a sly little fox.
I finally came of age when I was in the 7th grade;
I aced all my classes as if I were the ace of spades.
I eventually went on to university in my hometown;
Between my studies and work, I was about to drown.
Every night from 6 to midnight, I typed bills of lading;
At a truck company, the work tedious and degrading.
I worked with two other women who said I was dumb;
I just gritted my teeth until my tired fingers felt numb.
Typing long reports for a consultancy at meagre pay;
I worked my way through university as a Man Friday.
I eventually graduated from college with high honors;
I could now live more human without cutting corners.
Never to enter the graduate school of hard knocks;
I now had the luxury of wearing multi-colored socks.
PERSONALLY, I AM THANKFUL THAT GOD BROUGHT YOU THROUGH EVERY ROAD YOU FOUND YOURSELF ON...YOU SEEMED TO HAVE TURNED OUT FINE, JOHN. YOU'RE AT LAST DOING WHAT YOU WERE MEANT TO DO...A WONDERFUL POET AND, I AM ASSUMING, ALSO A GREAT TEACHER. HARD KNOCKS HAS A WAY OF KNOCKING HARD ON DESTINY'S DOOR MAKING SURE THAT WE TURN OUT...PERFECTLY, IN SPITE OF ALL OF OUR IMPERFECTIONS. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
How scary it is to be sent out nearly on your own as both parents were at work and you were always marked, "tardy", but couldn't figure out why. I didn't know what the word, "tardy" was. I learned. No matter how menial one thinks a job is there is a reason for it. We are humbled. You have put forth a masterpiece again, my friend!
I've always found that anyone who has experienced such a school is more trustworthy and rational (for the most part) about most subjects of consequence. Of course the world remains full of entitlement mentalities, victims, et al that have avoided getting their feet wet, but fortunately, a lot of us have ended that tolerance and avoid such people now. Good reminder for those who've been there and those that haven't.
In a single poem you have provided a biographical sketch. While we both have similar academic backgrounds, we started out quite differently. While shy among elders, I was quite comfortable with my contemporaries, partly thanks to having my twin brother to back me. My kindergarten was only two weeks long and I think I aced it. Reading came easily, but I didn't test well even through high school in literary comprehension. Still don't come with my inane comments on these poems. ;-)
I have done my share of tedious and dirty work, but never found any of it degrading. While I would say that I learned much from my experiences, the only hard knocks I had was my failure during my masters degree work at Stanford to be up to the task and prepared for it.
My school of hard knocks were quite different than were yours, John, still I endured. You had a plan to better yourself, I was a fly-by-night kinda guy. And lo and behold here we are, writin' our own kind of poetry/prose . . . Because we can.
lol, I love a man brave enough to venture out in color, my favorite color is red, I told my kids, when I die, please bury me in my favorite red dress and my sneakers, and they laugh though I'm dead serious. Pun intended. I too out of high school got a job typing bllls of lading. I worked for Marconi where my brother got me the job, there was an old lady who claimed all the typing I did as hers, until the Supervisor caught her and she was busted. I was only 16 years old, the fastest typist, how mean people could be. Anyways I went on to doing so much more, I look for your poetry each morning each one a revelation of the man behind the computer, thank you
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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Love ya!
Jane
I have done my share of tedious and dirty work, but never found any of it degrading. While I would say that I learned much from my experiences, the only hard knocks I had was my failure during my masters degree work at Stanford to be up to the task and prepared for it.
Ron