Recently I just discovered an amazing Spoken Word Poet, Sarah Kay. And among the few ones I have heard her perform, "B" is the most poignant and moving of all for me. I would like to think that these are the words I want to tell my boys when the time comes when they can understand my words, my spoken words more deeply. But, on second thought, maybe these very words, are what they are teaching me ever since they were born. Life does have a different way of making me find out and live out what is sacred in life itself. When I think I already know how things should go about, it takes a different turn, the road diverges into a narrow, rough patch without even an early warning device. And all I am left to do, compelled to do is to ponder, wait, trust the process and be thankful for everything. Because nothing in this life is without a purpose. So here's Sarah Kay's "B" for my boys, my little prince Garret and feisty king Morgan, or better yet, my boys' daily reminder for their mama.
If I Should have a daughter… (For my boys, or better yet For Me)
By Sarah Kay
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way,
she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going
to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she
can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick
you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs
how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so
the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to
wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will
always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just
smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost
everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to
see if you can change him.”
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain
boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks
chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you
let it.
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a
magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my
mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you
open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone
booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your
boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you
have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the
ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over,
and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this
funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale of one to over-trusting I am pretty naive but I want her to know that this world
is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste
it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the
girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve
done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred
and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell
them that they really ought to meet your mother.
