Acceptance.

He looks at me with silent eyes
I watch him with the same
He gapes his mouth as if to speak
But he knows not my name.

He doesn’t know that this is what
I’ve worked for these four years.
Of misery or happiness
He seems to shed no tears.

“It’s what you wanted, son,” he said,
“Congratulations, too.
Good luck in college when you’re there;
I’m very proud of you.”

I nod halfheartedly, I stare
At Father’s wrinkled face.
I wished a thousand times over
To put myself in place.

Because I don’t just want to feel 
Excited for myself
I wish he’d smile his giddy smile
To say he’d wish me well.

Sometimes my father does rejoice
At times he’s truly thrilled
Like when I bring good grades back home
He’s happy – happy still. 

But things that make him feel ashamed
Will only give him stress:
My choice to leave behind science
And certainly Tourette’s. 

He does not know that neurosci
Will never make me glad.
Too many options to explore 
During my undergrad. 

“Is it in the Ivy League?”
“It’s better than Cornell?”
My family’s never heard of Brown,
As far as I can tell.
December 23, 2010 

My eyes glance at my glass of Sprite
I cannot say much more.
Picked up my plate and went upstairs, 
I gently closed the door.