Category: Children

Although he spills milk on the rug,
He gives his Mom a bear-size hug;
And when he bumps into the vase
There’s sorrow written on his face.
If he disbuds our largest rose,
Great teardrops trickle down his nose.
He is, when skates make daddy fall,
Apologetic, after all.
The shattered plaque? One mournful stroke
Disposes of it: “Junior broke.”
Among the shattered ruins, I
Regard the boy, and softly sigh.
Sometimes you’d be downright resourceful
To tell who is the more remorseful!

by Ray Romine Friday, February 15, 1952

He sits upon a hill against the sky
And contemplates infinity alone,
With chin in hand. His eyes are far away,
Fixed on some dream adults might not condone
If they could understand. The world about
Him disappears while unreality
Turns wholly real as he jets to a star
Or shines before King Arthur on one knee.
His dog beside him makes no slightest sound–
Devotion deep as master is profound.

by Ray Romine Monday, July 2, 1951

He’s a nosey little ruffian,
Friendly and infomal,
Soiled, tattered, boisterous–
And normal!

by Ray Romine Sunday, April 4, 1954

When Junior was a pink-faced Two
His mother used to tell him “Boo!”.
But now he’s grown and has his car–
And with Statistics what they are–
When he stays out til after two,
I wonder who is scaring who?

by Ray Romine Friday, July 9, 1948

I sometimes think that we parents bore them
Through our living up to our own rules for them!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 3, 1950

Daughter comes home, tells the score,
Hangs her coat upon the floor,
Leaves the milk and crackers out,
Scatters bathroom towels about,
Falls in bed and cuts her steam.
End one day. Begin one dream.

by Ray Romine Friday, February 19, 1954

Kids who will not learn to mind
Can expect to get a bit behind.

by Ray Romine Saturday, September 23, 1950

Barbara Ann’s my name, and it seems a shame
To have so much to learn;
For my folks (being bright) are a shining light —
So now it’ll be MY turn!

I’m just SO new, and so little too,
But tradition must be maintained
I must polish a dish and learn to fish
and ‘influence friends’,- though pained!

I’ll learn to ski like my papa-sky
And sew like my mother does;
Though I’m not a boy, I must learn to shoot
(Where the Ring-Neck Pheasant WAS!)

I oughtta swim with an otter ‘s Vim
And read ALL the Magazines —
CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL YOU WHITES
FROM ALL OF WE THREE ROMINES!

Oct. 42
-On the birth of the White’s “First”

by Ray Romine Thursday, October 15, 1942

Whatever the question we ask him–
Of idea, origin, cause–
The answer should be familiar
If a child answers merely “Because…”

For it’s sad to record here how often
The same parent, after a pause,
Has answered the child’s earnest question
With an absent-minded “Because…”

by Ray Romine Sunday, April 4, 1954

Our son must have a bike to go
To school; it’s two whole blocks, you know.
He will wrestle roller skates
While the busy dentist waits.
Dad must drop him off, what’s more,
When we need things at the store.
The druggist is so far remote
The boy is asking for a boat.
He will not walk, I’m almost saying,
But he’ll run a mile when he is playing!

by Ray Romine Thursday, September 13, 1951