My father was a simple man, bred and born in the hills of West Virginia. He grew up in the depression years.  At the age of 16, with a tenth grade education, he entered the Navy in 1943.  His father had to have his birth certificate altered in probate court so that the Navy would accept him.  I said he had a tenth grade education, but that is generous in light of the fact that he rarely made it to the school house. He gained his education roaming the hills and shooting the squirrels and rabbits that helped feed his brother and sister.  In spite of that, he was the most intelligent and insightful man I ever knew.

When I was nine years old, he made me memorize a poem.  I didn’t appreciate it much back then, but I certainly do now. It is perhaps one of the most famous poems written in the English language, one I am sure that most of you have read.  As the conservatives seem hell bent on throwing the baby out with the bath water this November 7th, I fear that many more of you will give up in defeat if the Democrats retake the Senate or the House. If you haven’t read this before, I’m glad to introduce it to you.  If you have read it before, please re-read it. 

Thanks Pop.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Contributed by The Gray Dog on October 20, 2006 at 08:23 PM in Current Affairs, Poetry, The Gray Dog | Permalink

Comments

Posted by: ponsdorf

Perfect counterpoint! Or maybe a note of agreement? Either way it fits, to be filed away here under "wish I'd said that".

Posted by: ponsdorf | Oct 20, 2006 9:02:34 PM

Posted by: Rurik

You can never go wrong with Rudyard Kipling. Or his spirtual descendant, our own Russ Vaughn.

Posted by: Rurik | Oct 20, 2006 9:42:49 PM