As a boy I shared a game with my father.
Played it every morning 'til I was 3.
He would knock knock on my door,
and I'd pretend to be asleep
'til he got right next to the bed,
Then I would get up and jump into his arms.
"Good morning, Papa."
And my papa he would tell me that he loved me.
We shared a game.
Until that day when the knock never came
and my momma takes me on a ride past corn fields
on this never ending highway 'til we reach a place of high
A confused little boy,
I entered the building carried in my mama's arms.
We reach a room of windows and brown faces
behind one of the windows sits my father.
I jump out of my mama's arms
and run joyously towards my papa
Only to be confronted by this window.
I knock knock trying to break through the glass,
trying to get to my father.
I knock knock as my mama pulls me away
before my papa even says a word.
And for years he has never said a word.
And so twenty-five years later, I write these words
for the little boy in me who still awaits his papa's knock.
Papa, come home 'cause I miss you.
I miss you waking me up in the morning and telling me you love me.
Papa, come home, 'cause there's things I don't know,
and I thought maybe you could teach me:
How to shave;
how to dribble a ball;
how to talk to a lady;
how to walk like a man.
Papa, come home because I decided a while back
I wanted to be just like you.
but I'm forgetting who you are.