GROWING UP IN BIRMINGHAM BUT UNDER PARENTAL CONTROL...

Growing Up Controlled…

Unquestioning automation,

Dulled to military regimentation;

The rising, the bitterly cold room,

The scant washing, the dressing in winter’s gloom,

The meagre breakfast, the trudge to a ‘bus,

The repetition, the drudge without fuss;

The acceptance of parental domination,

Resigned to an avoidance of confrontation.

The wary eyes, the abject fear

The orders barked, the silent tear;

The instructions spoken, no advantage taken, 

The growing up, all joy forsaken;

Never inquisitive, just total obedience,

“Do as you’re told…” but never resistance,

The red-faced shrinking and being terribly shy;

Unquestioning, frightened, my controlled mind awry…

Pete Ray

May 2017

Growing up… 

I was expected to do as I was told…

And I never questioned it, or answered back.

My father controlled the family.

My mother quietly acquiesced.

I was just plain scared much of the time and became a creature of accepting habit…