I remember that hospital room, Two in the morning, late in June, Nurse laid you shaking in my hands, And I swear I didn’t feel much like a man. I counted ten fingers, counted ten toes, Kissed that little wrinkle on your nose, You wrapped your hand around one of mine, And somehow changed my whole life. I thought I was supposed to teach you everything, Funny what a little boy can teach a man. I’ll be there when you stumble, I’ll be there when you fall, When the road gets too heavy, You won’t carry it all. And I know someday you’ll grow up, Find a life that’s all your own, But whether you’re three or thirty-three, No matter where you go— You’ll still be my boy. Then you were four with a devilish grin, Climbing everything you shouldn’t have been, Dropped my wrench and I said a word, Lord, I prayed you hadn’t heard. Till Sunday morning, front-row pew, Preacher got quiet—and so did you, Then clear as a bell, you let that word fly, Your mama turned red and I nearly died. But five minutes later we’re walking outside, And you’re chasing a butterfly, Asking why the moon follows our car, And who turns on all those stars. I started seeing this old world new Every time I looked at it through you. I’ll be there when you stumble, I’ll be there when you fall, When the road gets too heavy, You won’t carry it all. And I know someday you’ll grow up, Find a life that’s all your own, But whether you’re four or forty-four, No matter where you go— You’ll still be my boy. Seventeen came like a summer storm, Keys in your pocket, heart on your arm, There was a girl you swore was “the one,” I smiled ‘cause I’d been that young. Then one Friday night you came through the door, Didn’t say a word, just stared at the floor, Grabbed those keys and peeled away, Like ninety miles an hour could outrun pain. I found you parked down by the county line, Red eyes staring through the windshield lights, You said, “Dad, I don’t wanna talk right now.” So I sat beside you without making a sound. ‘Cause sometimes being a father Means knowing when words won’t help at all. I’ll be there when you stumble, I’ll be there when you fall, When your heart gets too heavy, You won’t carry it all. And someday you’ll understand Some things hurt before they heal, But whether you’re seventeen or seventy, One thing will still be real— You’ll still be my boy. Then somehow years outran us both, You built a life, bought yourself a home, I watched you stand there dressed up straight, Trying not to cry on your wedding day. Then you called me up one Sunday night, Said, “Dad, come meet this little guy.” And when they laid your baby in your hands, I saw that scared and grateful man I used to be. I watched you count those fingers and toes, Kiss that little wrinkle on his nose, And when his hand wrapped around your thumb, I knew you finally understood What you’d always been to me. Now my hands don’t work like they used to, And these old legs get tired fast, Sometimes you repeat the things you’ve told me When my mind gets stuck somewhere in the past. You take my arm when the steps get steep, Drive me home when I can’t see, And every now and then I catch you looking At the old man I’ve come to be. I’ll be here when you stumble, I’ll be here when you fall, When the road gets too heavy, You won’t carry it all. You spent your whole life holding me, Dad, now it’s my turn too— And no matter how much time we get, I’m gonna see you through. He helped me into bed last night, Pulled the covers up just right, Turned to leave, I caught his hand, For a second I was that younger man. I said, “Son, there’s one thing time can’t change, Not the years, not the gray, not the pain. You can hold me up when I can’t stand…” But you’ll still be my boy. “And you’ll always be my dad.”
