Push

You taught me how to breathe. Yes, I know, people are born knowing how to breathe. But you taught me how to breathe when I was breathless, when I panicked, when I was too scared. You taught me to think about perspectives. You taught me to stand up to those that didn’t understand. You taught me the mechanics of love. The abcs of bedtime. Rising up. Your voice would tell me to try and get out of bed- when I couldn’t get up. You, at work already, busy with your meetings,  and me, struggling to get up and go teach. “Hi. Come on, yallaa, try.” And all I needed was that push. You pushed, but never too much. 

Being afraid and still plunging. You taught me to number my pain using percentages. You explained me to myself.. And who else would have done that? You believed that nothing was impossible. Even history could be debated.. And we debated everything. You taught me the beauty of language, when I thought I had mastered it. Have I mastered you the way you mastered me?