And so
I entered manhood
with this inherited language
of the male body.
As my father became less able
to dominate me physically,
a vast chasm of silence
opened between us.
My fear of him gradually transformed
into icy indifference.
He represented the antithesis of what
and who
I wanted to be.
Maturity allowed me to see,
or suspect,
some of the deeper motives
that guided him.
I became more suspicious
of ideas absorbed uncritically
as a child.
But old ideas die hard.
Ironically,
I interpreted the rejection of my father
as a failure in myself.
I explained my construction of an alternative
masculine identity
as symptomatic
of some inherent personality defect.
I felt that I couldn't measure up to his standards,
and was resigned to accepting
my own limitations.
But then . . .