“You’re big and ugly enough,” he did mean it kindly
as he passed me a wrench and continued to guide me.
“You’re big enough and ugly enough, to handle this truth.
It’s now time that you learned that it’s just what we do.
We take on the rough along with the smooth.
You will learn that the world will expect this of you.”
And so, each year upon year I took on rough truths,
until cold battered hands were no longer smooth.
I grasped the sharp nettles, and I braced for disputes
until strong opposition decided to move.
I ignored muscle pains and maintained my strong grip,
all the much tighter when I felt my hands slip.
Through gritted cracked teeth, expletives would slip
but I beat mounting odds with dulled cries of relief.
Now a few decades on, I’m still big and I’m ugly,
but I’ve got a light touch for words that hold beauty.
There’s a time for raw strength but space for what’s lovely
and the lovely gives strength to meet each day’s duties.
My dad did mean well when he passed on his insights,
but there’s much more to my strength than winning each fight.
I’m no longer a big, ugly stereotype -
The best part of me can be found when I write.
If my dad saw me struggling he would say that I was big and ugly enough to handle it.
