Doctor Parents

Having doctor parents is nice.

Nicer than some people might know,

because at 9 years old,

when you’re sick,

they treat you right.

Buy you sprite with bubbles that

pop pop pop real luscious on your tongue and

wash away the pungent taste of regurgitated food.

They put in a Little Mermaid VHS,

the one you’ve seen eight times but

it doesn’t matter because Ariel is beautiful

and someday you want locks as red as hers

with a dark-haired prince to accessorize with.

They give you undivided attention that you

suck up regardless of the selfish looks

from first brother, second brother, third.

Forget school. It’s cozy blanket cuddle time.

You don’t even have to go to the real doctor

with his germy office,

faded cartoons prancing happily along the wall

trying to make sick kids forget about the sick.

There’s the toy with wires and beads.

You can play on it till mom says no because

Do you have any idea how many sick kids touched that?

None of that.

Doctor parents just call in the medicine real simple like.

Doctor parents make the best parents.

Having doctor parents is awful.

First off, when you’re sick they’re real strict about what you can eat.

Toast and sprite.

Of course there’s meatloaf for the family with buttery bread

and hot cinnamony apple strudel.

So cinnamony your mouth aches to taste it.

But it’d make you throw up because

doctor parent says so.

You try to make the plain toast appetizing by

dunking it in Sprite.

And they force you to drink a grape syrup

of a suspicious dark violet

that you swear never had contact with any sort of fruit.

They know when you’re faking too.

They can whip out a thermometer faster than

Indiana Jones’s whip.

Don’t even try to pull a Ferris Bueller.

They’ll load you up with medicine,

pat you on the back and say

You’re good to go.

They know what’s good for you too,

for bedtime gets an hour shaved off it

because sick children need sleep.

But doctor parents make the best parents

because in the middle of the night when you throw up

toast and sprite and a forkful of sneaked-in apple strudel,

they’ll be there in a heartbeat.

Vomity sheets washed, sick child comforted,

bed pan and old yellow beach towel laid by your bedside

just in case.

All of this done by half asleep doctor parents

who love their children.

Even at 2 A.M. and covered in sick kid vomit.

Eventually, every kid gets his mom a mug that says

World’s Greatest Mom

But I don’t think they can say that.

Not unless they have doctor parents.