Domestic abuse is somewhat of a hot topic, one which quickly sparks interest and concern while also igniting tempers and opening ears to opinions. Theodore Roethke’s work “My Papa’s Waltz”, possesses significant tones of domestic abuse while mysteriously remaining vague. Many people find it easy to cherry pick words like “death”, “battered”, or “beat” and conclude his father abused him. This is, however, a grossly simplistic view of such a talented poet. It is, I believe, not in the blatantly violent words that the real message lies; perhaps it is in the mundane words, the actions or his parents (or lack thereof), or even the subtle metaphors sprinkled on top of this indistinct literary dessert. By dissecting the seemingly ordinary aspects, I will show where the true issues are.

Many people are discontented with the line “But I hung on like death, such waltzing was not easy.”. They see the word ‘death’ and are immediately turned down the path of unsettling words that make them feel unlikeable emotions, regardless of the context or real meaning. Saying, “I hung on like death”, is not a reference to anything sinister, painful, or bad in any way. On a rollercoaster, one grips the safety bars and “hangs on like death” because it is a frightening experience. Is it frightening because you fear death or, perhaps worse, permanent maiming? Maybe some people do, but most hang on because it is an exhilarating experience out of one’s control. Roethke’s father is clearly very intoxicated as the lines, “The whiskey on your breath could make a small boy dizzy;”, indicate. I believe that rather than a terrifying attack from his drunkard father, Roethke is merely clinging to a playfully intoxicated man who is rather poorly attempting to dance with him. Many readers assume “waltz” is a cleaver code for a rough tussle with his abusive father, but maybe instead it is a rose-colored version of the memory of his father’s playful attempt at a dance. 

The relationship between a mother and her children is very strong, so adding the lines, “My mother’s countenance could not unfrown itself.”, is a powerful tool. One would automatically assume that the mother is upset because of how roughly her husband is playing with their child. You could argue that his mother is worried about his father abusing him, or even about the pans on the shelves and the mess they’re making in the kitchen. With some background information, another conclusion could be met. When Roethke was a young teenager, his father died of cancer and his uncle committed suicide. Perhaps his father’s affinity for alcohol was brought on by the stress of his ailment. This would explain why his wife was so clearly perturbed. Watching her dying husband play with their child during his waning hours left; Roethke having little perception of what is actually happening and not truly comprehending the gravity of the situation.

The violence of the piece comes mostly from the third paragraph, “The hand that held my wrist was battered on one knuckle.”. Having his hand battered on one knuckle is a subtle way of inferring that his father is in some way abusive. This could be true on a few parts. The obvious option is that Roethke’s father abuses him. But if he was abusing his son, wouldn’t Roethke’s mother have the urge to step in rather than watch unhappily? It could be that Roethke’s father is taking his frustration out on his wife instead of his son, explaining the mother’s inability to “unfrown itself”. I find it hard to believe that he abuses his son, as Roethke is careful to omit any phrasing that would directly insinuate. Rather, I believe his mother retained the brunt of his father’s angry outbursts and Roethke had no knowledge of it until he was older.

The last paragraph contributes greatly to the overall confusion of this piece by contradicting a few things. Roethke writes, “[…] then waltzed me off to bed, still clinging to your shirt.”. The fact that his father put him to bed shows a side of gentility not often found in abusive parents. Roethke is still clinging to his father’s shirt which most people relate back to the first quote I used, “hung on like death”, making it seem like he is still so terrified he doesn’t want to let go of his father’s shirt. Although this is an easy conclusion to draw, I believe if you read into it a little more, you can see how emotional it really sounds. If Roethke does actually know of his father’s terminal illness, could his clinging not be a fear of letting his father move on? If you can see this point, the piece becomes much more lighthearted than originally perceived. Instead of four paragraphs on what an abusive monster his father was, it becomes a sentimental piece about his family’s coping with a devastating loss looming on the horizon. His mother, looking on as they play for what could be the last time, Roethke poorly dancing with his father, trying not to think about life without him. 

I admire Roethke as a great American poet, and I don’t believe his work should be so gently analyzed by the façade. It is my belief that Roethke’s work is intended to beguile his audience and convince them the truth lies on the surface. I don’t believe his work should be taken so lightheartedly. Regardless, Roethke experienced great trauma during his youth that deeply affected his writing later in life. 