I went home for Easter Sunday
During my senior year of college.
I was at that age
Where only my mother
Could call me a boy.

At one point in the weekend
When I was alone with my father
He tried to apologize
For all the things he had not done
When I was still a boy.

There are many things
My father never did.
He never called me stupid
He never yelled at me or demeaned me
He never clipped my wings
And he never clubbed my head.

Ther are other things
My father never did.
He never left home
He never came home drunk
He never beat my sister or brother
    or my mother
He never failed us.

There is one last thing
My father never did.
He never has told me he misses me
Nor have I said it to  him
But I could never doubt that he does
Because I do
And we are two of a similar kind.