Poem #7

Rites of Passage

Sharon Olds

As the guests arrive at my son’s party

they gather in the living room–

short men, men in first grade

with smooth jaws and chins.

Hands in pockets, they stand around

jostling, jockeying for place, small fights

breaking out and calming. One says to another

How old are you? Six. I’m seven. So?

They eye each other, seeing themselves

tiny in the other’s pupils. They clear their throats

a lot, a room of small bankers,

they fold their arms and frown. I could beat you

up, a seven says to a six,

the dark cake, round and heavy as a

turret, behind them on the table. My son,

freckles like specks of nutmeg on his cheeks,

chest narrow as the balsa keel of a

model boat, long hands

cool and thin as the day they guided him

out of me, speaks up as a host

for the sake of the group.

We could easily kill a two-year-old,

he says in his clear voice. The other

men agree, they clear their throats

like Generals, they relax and get down to

playing war, celebrating my son’s life.

I really think this poem is sort of cute. I recently experienced a very awkward party like this one. Well, the beginning of it anyway because none of us knew each other. It was the “Get Acquainted Day” for my college. For this party they stuck us in a room together and sort of said, “Just socialize. Just talk. Try to make a friend.” Do you know how awkward that is? The people at my party were my age and older, we weren’t six and seven, but we still felt the uncomfortable situation of not having anything in common with these people other than one person or place. Once we start talking the similarities come out, but the initial throwing of a group of people together with no structure as to what we should be doing is what makes it difficult to come together. I love how at the end of the poem the little birthday boy says something that only a little boy would say, but it breaks the ice for the crowd and from then on they can let loose. Ice breakers are necessary for social situations to develop. I can’t remember what social situations were like when I was six and seven. I really wish I could remember because it would be awesome to relate my experience to the experience of these little kids, or to be able to relive it in memory. I think birthday’s mean something really special to the parents, even when he day itself can sometimes not have the same awesome feeling that those parents have. However many years before that the child was born and was something the parents made together. For the child it is a day of fun, but that special day to remember is very important to the parents. Their child came this far.