Thank you Soul, I so often wished I had a window to the past to see what bends and molds a person. All my life, I have always wanted to fix everything, make everything better, make everyone happy, when you reach about middle age you realize you haven't the power to change things for other people. But I always wish that I could see why they are the way they are.....

I understand fully what you are saying Mike. I don't know what it is about my personality, but I always forget the bad, and only remember the good times. Even in my own growing up, I tend to forget, and there was plenty bad. I was in an abusive relationship for 14 years, and to this day, I wonder what it was I did that made him act that way. And the fact he was that way before me, and after me doesn't change my feelings that I could have made a difference. But failed. I think the key to most of the people who succeed as adults emotionally, they some how learned to reach adulthood. There are so many children in adult bodies, it isn't always our fault, it is because we weren't allowed to grow up, or weren't made to. And the fact that society has tried rather successfully to make the individual not responsible for their own behavior hasn't helped. My Dad has two kids and then just walked away, and never paid a dime of support to my Mom. That just isn't right. So althought I look for the innocent side of a persons nature, I do not forget that they had a choice and did not make the honorable choice.

Thank you Jess, it is always interesting to compare life achievement in correlation with opportunity and advantage. The person who I wrote this poem about, was an only child with parents that DOTED on him. Anything he wanted he got, he did without NOTHING. And he to this day, thinks everyone owes him a living, and he is an emotional drain, the likes you have never seen. Yet at the same time he is sucking you emotionally dry, he will say, I am here for you. In your hour of need, he is always the most needy. It is like a competition with him. So I have often wondered, what kind of child he was. I cling to the image of the child, but this poem does not say, that I would have necessarily liked that child, just that I would like to have seen him as a child. And that it is hard to hate an adult who really still is a child at heart, because they just don't understand why you are displeased.
~nea 6/2002
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