Little Man You’ve Had A Busy Day
Reading Time: 3 minutes
"Just reading or writing those lyrics is very emotive for me. You may wonder what lyrics? To find out, dear reader, I ask you to read on." - Allen Ansell I had what I see as the misfortune of a turbulent and fractious relationship with my mother. That relationship went on a very long while. She died when she was ninety-five. One time – during yet another ‘row’ when she was seventy-five – she said some words that are branded in my brain, “I’m too old to change.” So it is that the summation of my memories of my childhood relationship with her is difficult to change. I remember lots of things that are unfortunate, regrettable, distasteful, hurtful, or just plain bad. To have such a summation is not a good thing: It leads to continual internal stress. For many years I wondered why it was that I could not remember any clear instances of a loving relationship with her. Then, one day – long after she had died, completely out of the blue I came upon a this line on a web site, “Little man you’re crying”. It echoed somewhere very deep within me, and I had this vague recollection of my mother singing a song to me when I was very little. I researched the line and discovered, and remembered, the remainder of the lyrics. They are: Little man, you’re crying I know why you’re blue Someone stole your kiddie car away. Better go to sleep now Little man, you’ve had a busy day Johnny won your marbles Tell you what I’ll do Mummy’ll get you new ones right away Better go to sleep now Little man, you’ve had a busy day You’ve been playing soldiers The battle has been won The enemy is out of sight Come along now, soldier, put away your guns The war is over for tonight Time to stop your scheming Time your day was through Can’t you hear the bugles softly say Time you should be dreaming Little man, you’ve had a busy day. As I say, just reading or writing those lines makes me very emotional, and I am filled with a sense of wholeness to realise that there was a time when I felt that unconditional love that a mother has for her child. I am certain my mother loved me. Of that I have no doubt. The problem must have been that something, some aspect of emotion or mentality, perhaps of character, prevented her from expressing that love in the way that I wanted. The way that I needed. Maybe it was a two-way street, and I somehow didn’t express my love in the way that she needed. Whatever, not only am I consoled by that vague memory of her singing to me as a child, but also by the realisation that she played an important part in making me who/what I am now. As I am pretty much happy about who I am, and am at peace with myself, I must offer up my thanks to my mum for being such an important part of that. © Allen Ansell 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
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