Privilege of Sonship

I no longer frown or scowl

When dad asks me to iron his shirt

This mundane physical task

Is no longer mind numbing

But in fact – humbling

To take out the creases on the

Garments of the man from which

I came

And I am

 

I no longer fume

When I’m called two floors up to pick up the phone

That is millimetres away from dad in the room

No, it’s a privilege for me

To say, every time “it’s for you”

 

I no longer declare adulthood

When I’m told to be home by twelve

See – it’s a privilege I’m not in total solitude

 

I don’t mean any of the above but I mean this:

 

It’s a privilege for me to carry

The title – son

 

Meant for those so young

But goes back to ancient civilisation

And will go on till the infinite generation

 

The right hand man

The crown prince

The heir

Bearer of the family name

 

Three letters with a heavy load

But in this abode the weight is easy

For you are my father

And the love that exists between you and I

Broadens my shoulders and

Strengthens my core

To run farther and fly further.

 

Thank you.

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