If I have a son
he’ll remember the first time 
he lost a Little League game
then going out for ice cream afterwards

If I have a son 
he’ll hope that he can be like Spiderman
but the first time he flicks his wrists 
hoping for a spider web to emerge he’ll be disappointed

If I have a son
he’ll remember the first time
he caught the tooth fairy 
trying to slide money under his pillow

 

If I have a son
he’ll cherish the first A he receives
because who knows when that boy's
due recognition will come again

If I have a son
he’ll always ask the questions “Why?” and “How?” 
because the world is devoid of answers 
if there are no questions asked

If I have a son 
he’ll be the boy who sleeps beneath the sky
reaching for the stars
but not quite able to hold them in his hand

If I have a son
he’ll remember falling from his bike
because he’ll never use training wheels
knowing that we have to learn the hard way

 

Yet if my son aspires to be like me
I will frown, as my possibilities are finite
and the possibilities in his life
should remain boundless and free of limits.