We loved to hear your stories
about being youngest of seven
life in south-side Chicago in the twenties
your brothers who spoiled you and
your working-class pa
who gave you his pocket change
“Write them down Mom, write them down
take a class like I do, It’ll be fun.”
She did—for a while. We were thrilled
“But they’re all such good writers, kids
I can’t write so well.”
“No Mom, you’re fine! Keep going, we love it.”
She didn’t, couldn’t stand the pressure
of feeling ‘not good enough”
She didn’t tell us right away she quit
She knew what we’d say
And then the guilt would start—more pressure
Not good enough.
Jean E. Taddonio
No Thing Ordinary 