I asked, “So why would God make everyone else wrong only only a few right?”
To which Uncle Maga replied, “Because I’m in Jesus’ image, a straight man and white.”
What Uncle said made sense to me,
And it was at that moment I began to rethink my mother’s quality.
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To which Uncle Maga replied, “Because I’m in Jesus’ image, a straight man and white.”
What Uncle said made sense to me,
And it was at that moment I began to rethink my mother’s quality.
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Until Uncle Maga showed up with a twirling football in hand,
With a gruff, firm voice, Uncle Maga started saying,
“Sunday’s meant for praying and playing.
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We can toss around the ol pig skin and enjoy our day.”
When it comes to tossing a ball, I’m admittedly unskilled,
But to be asked, I was beyond thrilled!
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I ran to the Triangle Truck before a chance of being uninvited.
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Guiding my fingers along the stitched line.
I’d never known that a thrown football had to twirl,
And if the ball didn’t go far I was throwing like a girl.
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Back and forth, back and forth, the gap between us started to grow.
My neck and arm started to hurt,
But fewer and fewer catches landed in the dirt.
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I felt great to have an awesome, strong, grown-up friend.
We heard the tinkling of the Ice Cream truck beats,
And agreed it was time to get some cold treats.
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