A boy named Sue

I thought of the song, "A Boy Named Sue," recently, and thought how it greatly annoys me. 

Well, my daddy left home when I was three

And he didn't leave much to ma and me

Just this old guitar and a empty bottle of booze

Now, I don't blame him 'cause he run and hid

But the meanest thing that he ever did

Was before he left, he went and named me Sue

Well, he musta thought that was quite a joke

And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk

It seems I had to fight my whole life through

Some gal would giggle and I'd get red

And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head

I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean

My fist got hard and my wits got keen

I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame

But I made me a vow to the moon and stars

I'd search the honkytonks and bars

And kill that man that give me that awful name

Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid July

And I just hit town and my throat was dry

I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew

At an old saloon on a street of mud

There at a table, dealin' stud

Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me Sue

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad

From a worn out picture that my mother'd had

And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye

He was big and bent, and gray and old

And I looked at him, and my blood ran cold

And I said, "My name is Sue! How do you do?

Now you gonna die"

Yeah! That's what I told him

Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes

And he went down, but to my surprise

He come up with a knife, and cut off a piece of my ear

But I busted a chair right across his teeth

And we crashed through the wall and into the street

Kickin' and a' gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer

I tell ya, I've fought tougher men

But I really can't remember when

He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile

I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss

And he went for his gun and I pulled mine first

He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile

And he said, "Son, this world is rough

And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough

And I know I wouldn't be there to help you along

So I give you that name and I said goodbye

I knew you'd have to get tough or die

And it's that name that helped to make you strong"

Yeah, he said, "Now you just fought one hell of a fight

And I know you hate me, and you got the right

To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do

But you oughtta thank me, before I die

For the gravel in your guts and the spit in the eye

'Cause I'm the son of-a bitch that named you Sue

Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun

I called him my pa, and he called me his son

And I come away with a different point of view

And I think about him now and then

Every time I try and every time I win

And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him

Bill or George any damn thing but Sue

I still hate that name

Yeah

The basic premise of this song is that a father could parent through physical abuse, and emotional and physical abandonment, to “toughen up his boy.” Although initially disgruntled, his son would eventually come around to, “calling me pa, and I will call him son, and we would cry, and hug…”

Bullshit.

For one thing, it is not true that there is love behind abuse and neglect. There is no great emotional high ground of trying to make the child a better person. If he wanted to make the child a better person, he would stay put, be emotionally available, and actually care for the child. Love is what makes a child grow, not abuse.

And an abuser gets no credit for whatever a child makes of themselves. If an abused child goes on to make something of themselves, they are a hero. They have had to swim upstream like a salmon up a river of fire and daggers. Whereas loving parents give their children a leg up, and abuser claw their children down. They become the abuse of voice in their heads that torments their dreams, steals their fortunes, and makes the mistrust and hate people for no reason.

If an abused child make something of themselves, the abuser gets absolutely no credit. And there will be no cheerful reunion.

Unless, there are tears of repentance on that side, then perhaps there could be tears of forgiveness on this side.

But I’m not interested in any sort of reconciliation that validates the abuse that happened, as though it was somehow love in disguise. It was not.

In this way, the lyrics of “the cats in the cradle” are far more filling. The father emotionally neglects the child, and in old age, the child has nothing to say to the father. It is not that the son is cruel. They just have nothing to say. The father did not care, did not take time for the child when it mattered. Now, what do they have in common?

I realize that so much of my relationship with my dad has been trying to keep him happy. Desperately afraid he would be angry at me, and abandoned me. Now that the fear is gone, what exactly do we have in common?

What fellowship can light have with darkness? (1 Cor. 6:14) What relationship could and abused have with their abuser? What do I owe him? Nothing. I am moving on.