My Papa's Waltz, Final Readin Response

    
When you're a little kid, life's your personal amusment park; A fairy tale almost. Its full of rides, face painting, good food and everything you love. When you're a kid, you love the tricks and secerets of this 'amusment park' called life. Nothing in life is bad or wrong-when you're a kid at least. But as you mature into a teen, life's less like an amusment park and begins to lose it's fairy tale sparkle. The poem 'My Papa's Waltz' by Theodore Rothke is a prime example of finding fun or childish ways in a dark and not so friendly situation.

     The poem is veiwed at 2 sides. Neither side can be proven wrong. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. NO ONE IS RIGHT OR WRONG. One side of the poem is that its meerley a child having fun with his father. He had  a hard day of work so he had a drink to 'relax'. When you're 'relaxed' you have more fun in some cases then when you're tense. The line The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. I think that shows he was being abused. When a father usually is holding his child, he wouldnt hold him by the wrist, it would be by the hand. And his knuckle was probably batered from ' romping' around in the kitchen.It could just be veiwed as having a good time.

     The other side is more realistic. I think it's about being abused blindly or being in denial about who you love or how they treat you. I think because he's a kid he can find how they 'play' to be unique or not like everyone else. But it's not all that great. Sometimes when you're abused especially by someone you love. You can be blinded and accept what they put you through because you love them.

But overall I think the poem is classic.


The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.