Spelling Father

By Marshall Soulful Jones

Last night I had the most interesting dream.
In it, I was six years old in a National Spelling Bee.
Genius!
Complex words like...
Serendipity...
Duodenum...
Saratoga...
All spelled with ease up until the final round
One word between me and victory
The spell master clears his throat
“Young Man, your word is...FATHER.”
The crowd began to chatter amongst themselves
Upset of the simplicity of this final word
I looked for those eyes
Those eyes that say everything is going to be okay, do it!
And I realized I dazed off
“Young man, your word is FATHER”
I stood up straight, licked my lips and began
Father, M-O-T-H-E-R, Father…
The spell master looks at me, looks back at his flash card and says
I’m sorry,  you’re incorrect
I don’t think you understand
my father is sitting right in the audience
“Excuse Me!”
I’m sorry son but you are incorrect
Well then  you sir can save your sorry apologies
because you must mean incorrect
as within the parameters of being right”
Let me explain something to you
Cuz obviously you aint grow up where poppas are rolling stones
down the hills of women’s backsides
and when he cums all he left us...was alone
Where minstrel men strolll on bikes
And fathers balanced their menstrual, 2 jobs, 2 kids and a life on a unicycle
And It looks something like this
Breastfeeding with one arm, phone on the shoulder, cooking with the other arm, cleaning with one leg, tying sneakers with their teeth
Young Fathers who make mistakes who could have aborted us or put us up for adoption but opted to carry us,
deliver us
Teach us to be better than they ever were
Do better than they ever did
But they’re not perfect, they do fall short
But the one mistake they do not make is abandoning their seeds
You see fathers are master gardeners
They Tend to every leaf
Removing the weeds
placing us in the windows of opportunity
so that we can lean towards the sun
So that we never forget that the sky is the limit
planting kisses on our cheeks
hugs on our backs
Growing their love on us the best way they know how
Like my father
My father sacrificed having nothing, so that I can have everything
My father walked a daily nightmare so that I can live my dreams
My father watered me with blood, sweat, and tears so that I can be ripe for the harvest
And I hope that one day I can be as great as a father as she was for me
You did not ask me spell to deadbeat sir!
but if you’d like dead beat here it is
F-a-t-h-e-r, d-a-d, p-o-p
P-o-p-s, if you’d like the slang
You asked me to spell father and father is, always has been, and always will be spelled
M-O-T-H-E-R
So Google it, show me your flash cards, open your dictionaries
What Webster says don’t mean shit around here, round here
my father is sitting right there
And I love her.


To hear this poem read aloud, click this link.