 | Dear Son
Dear Son,
I’m sorry for the fences I built around you,
For the cracks in the words I left unsaid.
I showed you how to swing at life,
But never how to hold it, gently,
When it came at you slow.
Swing hard, son,
I told you.
Keep your eye on the ball,
But I didn’t tell you how to watch
The sun rise behind the plate,
Or how to let a pitch go by
If it wasn’t yours to hit.
Swing hard.
Stand tall.
Never fold.
But I should’ve told you
It’s okay to miss,
Okay to let the bat rest on your shoulder,
To find strength in stillness,
Not just in the strike.
Swing hard,
I taught you how to run,
To steal bases,
But I didn’t tell you how to walk away
From a game that wasn’t yours to win.
I didn’t show you how to stand
In the dugout of your choices
And let the crowd cheer for who you really are.
I built fences
Because I thought that’s what men do.
Guard their yard.
Keep the world out.
But I never told you
The grass is greener
When you let the gate swing open,
When you play catch with life
Instead of guarding your own field.
Swing hard, son,
But don’t forget
You are more than my lessons.
You are more than my mistakes.
More than my rules.
You are not my strikeouts.
You are not my losses.
You are not my choices.
Swing hard, son,
You are the batter of your own game
And I’m sorry I made you think
The score I kept was ever yours to beat.
I wanted you to be strong,
But strength isn’t always in the swing,
Sometimes it’s in the letting go.
The pause between breaths.
The soft place where you catch the ball
And cradle it like a dream
You won’t let anyone take away.
Swing hard, I said,
But swing for yourself.
Hit what feels right.
Leave the rest.
Let the fences fall.
Swing hard.
*Inspired by August Wilson’s Fences | | |