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    He is my Son!

    For so long I’ve watched them call him out like a bastard in a stranger’s land. I watched them compare him to the monster whose manhood helped birth him. He is my son and nothing like his father. His manhood is a blessing and not a curse like his father’s. He is the heaving of my breast, The pleasure of my moaning, The sweat in my labour, The life in the blood. . . He is my son; call him out no more! He is the smile on the sun and not the dent on the soil. He is the son of the soil and not the soil on our…