26 August 2024

However.


An ODE to THE CATCHER in the RYE

I killed that game
I killed that game because I could not meet expectations
Of those that were above my limitations
I couldn’t meet that ball as it went over that fence
I watched my team as their heads hung in sorrow
And I watched myself tremble.

This is because the things I knew as an innocent child
Wasn’t seen the same way as a man
And I did not want that
I didn’t want it…

1…

2…

3…

..strikes and you’re out

You don’t get another chance at life,
You don’t get the chance to be a child again.
And now that I know what that feels like
I wish to be a child once more and to remain that way
I watch my sister as she’s sit’n there on the carousel
Going round and round and round
I don’t want to be standing there watching
But on that carousel

I want nothing to do with these pains and responsibilities of being an adult
For I am a failing boy
I flunked out of 4 of my 5 classes at Pencey and couldn’t think of a way to move on
I wandered NY because I knew my parents wouldn’t care
Same thing with that ball game
I somehow knew that the people in the stands didn’t care

However there was this woman reading a magazine
And she looked up and then she looked down
I couldn’t tell if she cared or not
There was a hidden sorrow in her eye
And she believed that her son
Who was of poor sport and character, was the best man in the world

She believed because her son had won, that he had hit that ball over the fence
That he was the best person there
And that I had no right to stop the strong from being who they are
Now I’m not saying that baseball is like life
But it seems to me that when I put on the glove
On which my brother wrote in green ink the poems of the ones be loved
That it means I’m alive
And when something like killing a game happens
I’m dead to those who believed I could hit those expectations

I’ve died some many times over that I cannot count
I dare not count.

1….

2…

3…

… strikes and you’re out of the game of being a child
Old Phoebe my sister is still a child, still a smart child
And I’m her older brother that fails numerous times
That has no love,
No love to come home to, no one who cares
I have an older brother too who’s smart
And a younger brother, who's dead now was smart as well
The same one that wrote on my glove in green ink
The poems of the ones he loved
To him it was still a game
But to me it was life

And I killed that game
I killed myself before I knew it
I want to be Old Phoebe the still innocent child
I also want to be my dead brother because he too was a child

Now that my story has been told and you know what I am
What are you?
Are you those spectator that don’t care about
The children who wander, the children who are lost

Are you those who cheer for the weak
Or the ones who cheer for the “strong”
The ones who are no longer innocent
Are you cheering for yourself for I am not.
I have failed, been kicked out, thrown out
Perhaps it's this innocence that I strive to maintain and know
that has killed me and killed the game.
Not me
Not me

Now know that even though I kid
And even though I may not seem it
I am a smart boy
So please I ask that you cheer for me as well
Because who else would

J.D. Salinger

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