My Papa's Waltz By Theodore Roethke

Traumatic Repression of a Waltz
In Theodore Roethke’s poem, My Papa’s Waltz, there seems to be a bit of controversy about what actions are taking place within it. From the title, it appears that the father and child were dancing, seeing as a waltz is a type of dance. But this is no dance. While waltzing, one person leads while the other follows. The father is the leader in this situation, showing dominance over his child. This “waltz” is simply something that the father does often. The narrator is the child. The vague and patchy description of the actions taking place would indicate that this is but a memory the narrator is trying to recall about his childhood. The poem, when read over quickly and lazily, may appear to be about this dance,
the waltz. Though, the more the poem is read and the darker the reader’s thoughts get the clearer the image of what is truly happening becomes. My Papa’s Waltz is told from the point of view of a man who, while trying to portray a happier memory, is describing the sexual abuse he received as a child.
“We romped until the pans, Slid from the kitchen shelf.” This line of the poem gives this image of pans falling down from their places on the shelves.
The simple action of stomping around while dancing couldn’t have caused this. The walls were shaking. Romped in its simplest definition is the action of playing roughly or energetically. Except it has more than one definition, as most words do. So, on an informal note, romping can also be coined a sexual term. Whether the child and his father were “playing”” or engaging in sexual activities neither option sounds too pleasant if it was so rough enough to knock pans down in the kitchen. It’s almost like the narrator can’t remember exactly how the pans feel down so their subconscious tried fill in the void of memory with this idea that they were dancing. But the reality is that the real memory is too traumatic that the narrator’s own mind is trying to protect itself by saying that the pans fell because of their stomping and not from a bed being banged up on the other side of the kitchen
wall.
“My mother 's countenance, Could not unfrown itself.” It is noteworthy that the mother appears to be unhappy happy about what is going on. Since this line occurs after the pans have fallen from the shelves, she must be near the kitchen. She might be doing dishes after their dinner or something. But the focus here is that no matter how unhappy the mother is, she does nothing and says nothing to stop the actions taking place between her child and husband. Her countenance, or her face, is a fixated frown. As if she is a very unhappy and depressed person all the time and her face is now a permanent representation of her distress about the inappropriate activities going on under her roof. She feels helpless; she’s no match for her abusive, alcoholic husband. Many women in their minds are the victims. Feeling just as trapped as her child she doesn’t see why she should protect her kid while she has no one to protect her. ‘Among women brought to emergency rooms due to domestic violence, most were socially isolated and had fewer social and financial resources than other women not injured because of domestic violence (SafeHorizion).’ The mother has invested everything into this man, her husband, and created a child with him. She doesn’t stop anything, because like most women in her situation, she has too much to lose if she does. The narrator only comments on her facial expression because she never says anything in retaliation. Whenever the child was abused she just frowned, caught up in her own depression.
“Waltzed me off to bed, Still clinging to your shirt.” Here lies the only direct reference to the word waltz. And it isn’t in the context of dancing. It’s used as an idiom for taking the child briskly and easily away to their room. The second part of the quote states that the child is hanging onto the father shirt. There are two words that didn’t make it into the poem that change everything. They are “with fear”. When a child is scared they cling to their blanket with fear. In this poem it is highly possible that that is how the child was feeling as they were being taken off to bed. There is no clinging to the fathers arm or neck. The child doesn’t find comfort in their father’s embrace, and instead grips onto the shirt, the closest thing to a blanket on hand.
Traumatic memories can haunt people for the rest of their lives.
It is a true blessing when our own minds protect themselves by warping and forgetting memories to make things easier on a person overall. The younger someone is the easier it is for memories to be forgotten. Repressed memories are ones that someone has unconsciously forgotten. Or despite its obvious occurrence can’t be recalled. Like when you can’t remember the first words you spoke or how old you were when you first learned to walk. As people get older memories start to become more solid and real. The narrator, whether too young to remember precisely what was happening or suffered from repressed traumatic memories, was not clear enough to validate the actions taking place. The child in the memory was almost like a puppet. Never spoke, never cried, they only did what the father made them do. The child clung to his father’s shirt as he walked by his mother who stood in the kitchen frowning, picking up the pans from the floor and placing them back on the shelves. Some memories are better left in the
dark.

Work Cited
"Domestic Violence: Statistics & Facts." Safe Horizon. N.p., n.d. Web. 05 Oct. 2014.
Roethke, Theodore. “My Papa’s Waltz.” The Norton Anthology of American
Literature.. Gen. ed. Nina Baym. 8th ed. Vol. A. New York: Norton, 2012. 2274. Print.