Have I taught you the right things, my darlings?
Between manners and morals,
folding pants legs seam to seam,
washing whites and colors separately,
and how to pin a corsage,
did I remember to teach about love?
About loyalty and listening and persistence
and patience and always remembering
to put down the toilet seat?

While I ferried you to school and soccer,
sleepovers and band, birthdays and
baseball and church,
did I make time to talk about life?
About giving and caring, honesty and ethics,
the splendor of a sunrise, the magic of music,
the satisfaction of a job well done,
and never to leave
before the credits have run?

There’s so much that matters!
Whom to love, whom to trust, deferred gratification,
flexibility, education, a fulfilling occupation . . .
Oh, I want to teach you everything, but life
is so brief—and there’s no textbook for Teaching Life
or How to Turn Good Boys into Magnificent Men.
I’ll just keep telling you everything I can think of;
you, please, keep asking: “Mom, how . . . ?”,
“Mother, what . . .?” and “Mama, when . . .?”

A variation of this poem appears in A Mother of Sons (Loyola Press, 2004).
Used here with permission.