Alas, that I should live to see

My backward son, at almost three,

Use golf Club heads to drive a nail,

And a football helmet for a pail.

I know they fit his head and height:

I had them made exactly right.

The skates I got for him in hope

He drags around upon a rope.

I bought him boxing gloves at two

And showed him what the champions do.

At six months old I bought in vain

A powerful electric train.

The boxing gloves are on a shelf.

I rather like the train myself.

Loud on the sidewalk now there run

A dozen lads, but not my son.

Have I been slack in discipline?

Some deprivations must begin.

When his birthday comes, he shall not go

With me to see the Sportsmen's Show,

And he'll get no guns, or rowboat, even,

Until he's six, or maybe seven.