DEAR ABBY: Your Father's Day tribute, "Father Talked to Me," struck a deep chord. The need to speak out welled up within me and I found myself rewriting as I read. This poem was not a struggle to compose; the words flowed like water. They have been locked in my heart since childhood. I hope you will print it so others like me will know they are not alone. -- NATIVE OF NEW ORLEANS
NO PLACE LIKE HOME
My father never seemed to care,
And when I shined was never there.
He criticized from A to Z, but never complimented me.
Accusing, belittling, constantly.
We were never friends; we were always at war.
He showed me no love, nor what fathers are for.
My childhood, akin to something like hell,
The cursing and taunting I remember quite well.
I was beaten with whatever he had in his hand --
A broomstick, a board, or an old frying pan.
Under his workbench I'd hide and I'd cry
While praying to God to please let him die.
Each day I lived in fear, really perplexed,
I never knew what would set him off next.
I could tell no one -- I had no recourse,
For he threatened I'd be the cause for divorce.
My lifetime's achievements were accomplished alone
Because for some kids, there's no place like home.
P.S. An ironic footnote: When his time came, my father died in my arms.
DEAR NATIVE: Your poem touched me deeply. I'm sure it will be meaningful for others who cannot give voice to the pain of their daily lives. Perhaps simply knowing that they are not alone will provide some comfort. Bless you, and them.