Category: Children

Our daughter has an almost vicious
Hatred towards doing dishes,
Mending clothes and making beds,
Waxing stairs and ironing spreads;
And when it comes to floors of rooms,
Her aversion holds for mops and brooms.
Her mother now and then will rant
On this dislike for work. I can’t,
For while her attitude is bad,
The child inherited from dad….

by Ray Romine Thursday, April 13, 1950

If you wonder why friends and neighbors don’t take
Your children to heart and adore ’em,
Put some of the fault
To not calling a halt,
And teaching a little decorum.

by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 10, 1947

O Kiddies, take a lesson from
Precocious little Clarence:
To keep their love, don’t go above
The I .Q. of your pcrents.

by Ray Romine Monday, April 30, 1945

It’s true an active boy’s whole day is marred
If he can’t do those things he ought not do;
But parents, whom the years have changed, regard
The things for fun as everyone taboo.

And parents will reverse themselves again
Upon becoming Grandfolks–if and when!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, November 16, 1949

Sombrero, chaps, and six-guns–he’s outfitted
To see that Law and Order are outwitted.
Ads, television, movies, serve to spur him;
Equipment limitations don’t deter him.
His fine white horse! There is no limitation
When one is six and has imagination.
The chairs are mountains, and we get it dinned in
To us the floor lamp is a painted Indian.
He swaggers on, a really big-time Baddie
(Until he needs, say, fifty cents from daddy).

by Ray Romine Sunday, March 11, 1951

I shall write a little poem
To my daughter, Sandra Jean,
And she can have the fattish meat,
And I shall eat the lean;

And she has cutish little dimples
Just above her chin;
And a great lacunae
Where her brain has bin.

Sometimes, it seems, I must confess,
That she is smart in school;
And yet at home, full all the time,
I think she is a drool.
…
Love the little pot I oughtter–
After all, she IS my daughter.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 1, 1944

Why is it boys who shout with glee
At home, your peace submerging,
Won’t say two words in company,
In spite of parents’ urging?

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 3, 1946

It’s grand that Daughter should learn pianna,
If one can stand it- -but me, I canna.

Why do mothers contain ambitions
To turn their children into muscians?
What if the child does die unsung?–
Better be unknown and remain unhung.

The dear is learning her sharps and flats
The while her father is going bats.
These whole-notes, half-notes, and the rest
Seem not to soothe the savage breast;
Music may, indeed have charms,
But Little-one’s lessons are four-alarms.
She pounds and fingers and punches and trills
Amid the birdies and daffodils;
From lunch to dinner, from spring to fall
My Daughter’s lesson is shared by all.
Paderewski’s fame has never cowed her–
He might’ve played longer, but he couldn’t play louder.

By the time she’s mastered her flats and sherps
I’ll be playing dem Gilded Harps–
My chance at last!–the worm is turning–
I’ll unhinge Angels while I’m learning!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 7, 1945

Small vandals
In sandals.

by Ray Romine Thursday, May 24, 1945

If enthusiasm counts,
How one’s faith in mankind mounts
Watching these, salt of the earth-
Full of tireless, dimpled mirth!

by Ray Romine Thursday, March 30, 1950