Yes we were poor, what da hell?
My parents could not read or write
It was a struggle to finish Matric with candle light.
When others kids could have their rapports signed
I had to sign my own.
When others could bring their fathers to school
dad would not; he was too shy and emaciated,
and did not fit in.

I was ridiculed because of my appearance;
about my physical attributes, cheap clothes
and broken shoes.
Our food was not what many would be proud of.
At times dad threw mom’s clothes out of the door,
since they had a fight, in his drunken stupor.

But if I could have it all over again, I would want them back;
as is, warts and all.
Because, in spite of what I had to endure in my childhood,
I now know they have loved me
and stood by me,
Nobody except my King could love me as fully
and as sincerely as they did.
And yes there were times when I wanted to reject them,
there were times when I was ashamed of them,
There were times when I dreamed of another, a better family,
Often I wanted to leave, run away.
To my greatest shame I have seldom expressed appreciation
for what they did for me!
Oh how I wish they were around today,
so that I can get at least tell them that I love them,
prove to them that I did, and continue to appreciate
what they have done for me.
Nothing induces greater pain
than the thought that I have failed to show a thankful heart.
If I had the change to do it all over again,
I would show my appreciation as often as I could,
and as fully as I should.