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The poet talks about how a flower taught her that it is ok for her son to be different.
As I strolled through the stretches one day
Of a botanical garden, I found suddenly on my way
That unique bunch with its orange and red
Spiked flowers almost towering over my head
And I was reminded of how years ago
We had seen these flowers in a horticulture show.
You were in second grade, if my memory serves me right
Fascinated more by the name than the sight.
‘Red hot poker’ was a beautiful flower, you proclaimed
We snapped a photograph, and of course you named
It your favorite flower, and wrote its name meticulously
For your homework; you spelt out ‘Kniphofia’ carefully
You were so excited, but even when I was apprehensive
I wished you had liked a more conventional alternative
I hate to remember maternal instinct was on target
You returned from school next day, quite upset
For writing something strange you were derided
No one could understand why you had decided
To name a flower that hardly looked like one
To be your favorite, they did not know, my son
Of this plant, in ignorance, they made fun
Of you- over the years, you displayed
Non-conformity to tradition in many different ways
Despite my misgivings, I tried to encourage you
To follow your heart, knowing that was the right thing to do..
**
Now you live far away and meet me
To my great chagrin, only infrequently
You are wildly successful in your profession
That is unconventional- you followed your passion
Seeing the ‘red hot poker’ today sent me down memory lane
To that first instance when you had suffered pain
For being different in a society that conformity values
That gives you few options from which to choose
I am proud of who you are, and of course
With the flower for a picture I pose
And send it to you instantly, subtexting “Remember?”
You promptly reply, exclaiming ‘Red Hot Poker’!
And then, “It’s still my favorite, and I know, yours too”
I smile to myself, yes, that is true
If not for this flower I might not have realized
My son’s true potential, I might not have advised
Him to stick to his ideas that were different
This flower made me a better parent.
Published here earlier.
Image via Pixabay
I am a woman, a physician, a mother and an aspiring writer rolled into one. I write about various aspects of my life, and my preferred form of writing is poetry (or rhyming verses). read more...
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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