Twenty years in one house is a very long time, but that’s the anniversary that came up yesterday for us at number 124. We had communicated with a real estate agent before we arrived from the UK and bought the first house she showed us. We moved in just over a month later. We were thirty-six at the time and it was our first and so far, only house.
Son Tom was five and has vague recollections of London, Lulu, then two, has none. This is the only family home she’s known. Which is perhaps why she was quite so vehement when we mooted the possibility of selling. We’re empty nesters now and though we love the place, we do rather rattle and roll around in it.
Thinking about this reminded me of one of my poems in my first collection, It’s your Dad. I suppose I first wrote it about ten years ago and I hadn’t read it or thought about it for some time. It’s a little dark in some ways, but there you go, see what you think.
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Am I bothered
I shoot hoops alone with a deflated ball
The net hangs forlorn, dangling.
New neighbours play
In their new-to-them pool,
vacated by an older couple
moved on to a flat section.
My son watches Friends on TV
Study leave, brain leave
“Am I bothered?” the kids shriek cheerfully, telling me
they’re migrant Poms, like me, only fresher.
Am I bothered says the prodigal –
no words, just attitude and hooded eyes.
Despite myself, I’ve metamorphosed, mildly,
meekly, into middle age
We arrived like our neighbours
and now we’re not. Will I blink again
and start looking for a flat section?
Am I bothered?
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**** Copies of It’s your Dad are still available from bad and good bookshops or direct from me, please just private message me or email pete@petecarter.nz
