Eddie Murphy on the Can
I am on the can in the school bathroom
watching a video of Eddie Murphy talking about being a dad.
He says I’m a cool dad and you know he is.
I think, I’d be a cool dad too if I had his money.
Then someone tries to get in but the door is locked
and I think, he might think Eddie Murphy is in here dropping a deuce
because the sound is up really loud on the phone.
And for a second I am Eddie Murphy and then I’m not,
and I get sad. I wonder if my middle-class poverty
has made me a defunct dad.
It got me bamboozled.
It made me park the car crooked.
It made me shorter.
It made me blind and broke and made me forget what love is.
On the video there’s a picture of Eddie with his 10 kids.
The oldest is 34. The youngest is 5.
You can tell how much they all love him.
They’re Eddie’s kids
but fame has nothing do with their love.
He’s been to all the school plays, all the volleyball games, the late nights vomiting,
the doctor’s appointment.
Oh, I’m sure there have been nannies and caretakers
and all that support that money buys
a dad
and I’m on the toilet with Eddie
wishing I was quieter, sorry that I threw chairs
across the room when my kids went bat-shit crazy
because I had to worry about the phone bill getting paid on time
and then I think, what if they whole world had it cool like Eddie Murphy?
What if no one had to fret about the check book and the savings account?
What would fatherhood look like then or does money have nothing to do with it
and it’s just quiet love?
It’s probably just quiet love.
We are all wired the way we are wired, flawed and fucked up the way
we are flawed and fucked up.
Our kids come out the way they come out
and I want to stay locked inside the restroom.
Just me and Eddie and all of fatherhood
like it’s a laboratory of love
and maybe I can learn some new things I already know
forever ignoring the people who knock on the door,
in dire need of the head.