Please Don't Call Me Mister

Please don’t call me mister

Cause that’s my daddy’s name

I know I’m grown with kids of my own

But that’s a title I can’t claim

My daddy worked to build things

His hands rough and lumber worn

His cabinets tall and storied walls

Still stand proud where I was born

My daddy has since slowed down some

The saws and hammers rest today

He’s spending more time, which I think is fine

With my mama at home nowadays

Back when I was a baby

Just barely walking back then

I’d go to his shop and bang on a block

Of scrap wood with my hammer from him

I still have the sawhorse he made me

Although it’s damn near cut in two

It’s just hanging on where my cuts were too long

But like all things he makes, it holds true

Those youthful days stay with me

As my youth grows worn and grey

When a giant of a man held tight my small hand

And did his best to guide my way

It seems that the time passed too quickly

The weeks, months, and years soared on by

Yet, in spite of the let-downs and miles between towns

My daddy gave me the courage to try

Now I’ve been blessed with a family

Two pretty girls and three handsome young men

I wonder each day if there’s some tiny way

That I’ll be as good of a daddy as him

If I achieve just a fraction

Of the honor that my daddy has earned

Maybe then I’ll take pause and consider the cause

To add “Mister” to my name in turn

But, that’s a lofty goal to be certain

I’ll do my best; I’ll give all I know how

And maybe one day I’ll give the “okay”

To add that word to my name... but for now

Please don’t call me mister

Cause that’s my daddy’s name

I know I’m grown with kids of my own

But that’s a title I still can’t claim