I heard a story from a black man, just the other day.
Not a story about slavery or apartheid,
Not even a story about blacks or whites,
But a story about a father, two who went different ways,
And yet came out inside the other.

The tale was about a father who did and a father who didn't.
It was about one who was very proud and one who was very sad.
For in this story you are about to hear we witness the one who would do it right,
Oh he sang to his daughter before she slept at night. He coddled her and loved her,
He told us it was his second time around, he was much better this time.
He tried time-outs, and learned it worked for those who had patience.
You could tell he was good and he felt good and let us know.

Then he told us of the one who would do wrong. The one who took a strap to his
Two year old girl. The one who he witnessed and with a blind eye said,
He is not I, for I am good, listen and look at me while I tell you more.
I am such a good dad, I am not like him I am much oh much more.

As I listened I cried, I cried inside of how sad we all are, how pathetic we have become.
I thought in the past they were silent and perfect, but now we are no better.
What is the difference between these two men? One raises quietly and one with a rough hand.
Yet both have seen and both have carried on, and a child suffers and they know.
How do they sleep at night, well I am sure the one carries on and strokes his ego,
Then calls his friend and asks him out for a beer or two. And a child cries in the distance.

When a murder is committed and someone watches and does nothing they are sentenced,
Almost the same.
There is a law to protect heroes and to punish those who don't.
And when it comes to children who are beaten, neglected or sexually abused,
Only professionals are mandated and have to tell.
The others are given titles like grandma, or mother, or aunt sue.
We call them neighbors or relatives, good friends, GREAT lovers.

This man walked away the other day, thinking he was right and the other was wrong.
He will carry this thought to the end of his day.
We will probably give him an award for doing a good deed, and never even know…
And the other child will show up in some way,
as a statistic in your book at the end of a long day.
And I walked away afraid to stand up and say,
How can you sleep with yourself at the end of the day?
I walked away and so now I too am the same.