Who will cry for the little boy

by Antwone Fisher

"Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?"
The last time I went to a movie theater was in the late 70s.  Therefore, I have missed a lot of movies unless they are scheduled for TV.  I didn't see the movie Antwone Fisher (2002) until yesterday.  I actually bought the DVD several years ago but I couldn't bring myself to see it because I thought it would be painful to watch.  And I was right.
While it was painful, the joyful ending made the pain bearable.
The reciting of the poem, which Mr. Fisher wrote, was the most heartbreaking scene to me because I grew up without a father and I just inserted the gender girl for boy.  We often hear about boys needing fathers but seldom do we hear the same about girls.  

Three sisters with the same father in New York, 1951

Chris, Cozette, and Mary

As a female I can state that a father's love is just as important to a girl because she needs that unconditional love from a male.  All of my youth I yearned for my father and the only time I saw him was when I was visiting some relatives in New Jersey.  I was with an older sister who pointed to a short man standing in the yard with his family.
"That's your father," she said.
I was so startled I couldn't open my mouth.  I was paralyzed.  I was too afraid to go speak to him and wondered if he knew who I was.  I wanted to tell him that I was a good girl who did well in school, hoping one day he would find out and come to tell me how proud he was of me.  I wanted to tell him I loved him, even though I didn't know him, and to ask him if he loved me.  I did nothing.  
I had my camera with me, which I always carry, and snapped his picture from afar.   This was before digital cameras and I had to wait until I got back home to develop the film.  I took numerous pictures on that trip and they all were perfect, except the picture I took of my father.  The negative was completely black.  I was horrified.  Now I had no proof that he existed and even though this happened over fifty years ago, it is a picture that is burned in my mind.