A part of some parents never grew beyond childhood. Such parents are therefore incapable of parenting anyone but themselves. It is to them that "Happy Homes" speaks.
Happy homes are filled with the noise of children; Unhappy homes the noise of their parents-- Parents who want to have children But don't want their children to have parents. In vain their children search them for the image of a parent, Longing to see in their beloved frame Someone patient, Someone caring, Someone tolerant, And ready for sacrifice. But such a one they scorn to be lest they lose their chance for fun Which they both have each day parenting their secret inner child-- That little child in some parents embedded To whom the outward child is a great rival. What patience they show this inward child! And what care, tolerance, & sacrifice too! At them no angry voice is raised nor a stern finger wagged And not once--never--are they urged to adulthood. So upwards now I cast my words To firmly perch on the winds that come So when far and wide they blow this night This tip they'll bear to every little child: "Of such parents are unhappy homes made: Parents obsessed with their inward child, The secret child that so fills their hands Leaving no space for the outward one."
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