I’M GLAD YOU WERE MY DAD

    

JONNY

Life beyond university was moving on well; at least I was enjoying the 77 steps to my place of posting, my numerous church activities and dreaming of sharing my graduation photos with my family, until Sunday evening of October 6, when death gave me a hard knock on my head, waking me up from my day dream.

Ouch! It still hurts because I am yet to recover from the pain that comes with losing a father.

And so with this poem I wrote about three father’s days ago, not knowing I was writing a tribute to him, I would like to express how special my dad, the late Mr. William Kwame Wasaa Donkor is to me.

                                 

~I’m GLAD you're my DAD~

 I know my dad may never read this

But whether he does or not, it is still his

For all the love words you told my mum,

And all the love songs you had to hum,

For all the lovely gifts you had to buy too

Until finally she said 'I do',

I'm glad

You’re my dad.

For all the strength you lost in making me,

For all the styles though I didn't see,

And for all the silly errands you had to go

All because pregnant mum said so,

I'm glad

You're my dad.

For all the prayers you said till 27th august dawn,

For all the stress till I was finally born,

For all the baby sitting you did whenever mum was away

And all the lullabies you sang to make me play,

I'm glad

You're my dad

For the trouble you went through when I got burnt on my chest,

And the countless times you took me to the clinic for eye test,

For the lenses and frames you continuously bought

And I carelessly broke while I slept or fought,

I'm glad

You're my dad

For each spank, for each slap, for each blow,

For each knock, for each lash I saw you throw,

I hated you but now I’ve grown and I know

That they were only to help me grow

A day will come that I will be called daddy too

And I’ll do my best to be lauded like you

My ears went close to my sweetheart's tummy today

And I’m sure I heard each of my future twins say;

I'M GLAD

YOU'RE MY DAD

{written in June 2011}

 I wake up each morning hoping to hear him knock on my door, reminding me of morning devotion. I enter the living room in the afternoon hoping to find a white bearded man asleep in the sofa with both the TV and radio on; I intentionally fall asleep at the living room in the evening waiting to feel his hand waking me up to go to my own bed.

 As I prepare to physically part with him on Saturday December 14, I know he will still be up there watching over his little boy.

I miss my dad, yes I do but I guess his maker misses him more.