A poem by Sharon Olds

The Clasp
by Sharon Olds

She was four, he was one, it was raining, we had colds,
we had been in the apartment two weeks straight,
I grabbed her to keep her from shoving him over on his
face, again, and when I had her wrist
in my grasp I compressed it, fiercely, for a couple
of seconds, to make an impression on her,
to hurt her, our beloved firstborn, I even almost
savored the stinging sensation of the squeezing,
the expression, into her, of my anger,
"Never, never, again," the righteous
chant accompanying the clasp. It happened very
fast-grab, crush, crush,
crush, release-and at the first extra
force, she swung her head, as if checking
who this was, and looked at me,
and saw me-yes, this was her mom,
her mom was doing this. Her dark,
deeply open eyes took me
in, she knew me, in the shock of the moment
she learned me. This was her mother, one of the
two whom she most loved, the two
who loved her most, near the source of love
was this.

Meet bell hooks

Here is a good link to information about bell hooks, the author of Justice: Childhood Love Lessons.

In light of our increasingly violent society, I think we should look at reducing the amount of violence in our lives and in the lives of children. Why is it OK to hit children, but not OK to hit adults? There are consequences when we hit adults -- in school, at work, in a public place. But it's OK to hit children? I personally don't get that.