When I see overly indulgent parents

pampering their children

who, in the store, cause strife,

 

I want to quote the Franciscan monk

and shout from the roof top, “Life

is not about you; you are about life.”

 

But said parents, who think the sun rises

and sets on the heads of their progeny

as well as their own backsides,

 

while the monk’s wise words fly by,

would tell me just to buzz off and

find a rock under which to hide.

 

And so, with less than charity,

I pray for lightening to strike

but my wise wife then says,

“Let’s just go for a nice hike,”

 

proving, once again, she’s right.

I have to confess that I, too, do think

I am the center of life.

 

Oh, how I wanted, at those folks, to holler

but discretion really is the better part of valor.

 

Perhaps, one day, I, too, shall avoid strife

and realize that life is not about me

but I am to be — about life.