Book excerpt: "Why Fathers Cry at Night" by Kwame Alexander

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Kwame Alexander, a Newbury Medal-winning author of books for young readers, has written an unusual memoir, for adults. "Why Fathers Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Recipes, Letters, and Remembrances" (Little, Brown and Company) tells the story of Alexander's parents, his path to literary success, and his struggles to be a good husband and father – a series of snapshots, he says, of a man learning to love.

Read an excerpt below, or listen to the audiobook excerpt read by Kwame Alexander:

"Why Fathers Cry at Night" by Kwame Alexander

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I was two. It was my birthday. She gave me wooden blocks in all shapes. For me to fit in a wooden box. A puzzle of sorts. She showed me how to do it once. Maybe twice, then said, with a smile, Now, you figure it out, son. I said, Okay, Mommy. It took a while. But I did. And, of course, I wanted to do it again and again. And she sat right there while I did. Hugging me, wiping chocolate ice cream from my lips. Telling me to be careful not to get any on my favorite black‑and‑white dashiki. At some point, she got up, 'cause she had to go to work, or cook, or have a life. And I was mad and sad, and unsure again. But her job was done. I'd figured that puzzle out enough times to do it by myself. And she knew that. Still, it wasn't as much fun without her. And it wasn't the same kind of happy. But I felt loved. Because she was there. And that gave me strength to carry on.

My mother died on September 1, 2017. Within a month, the cracks in my marriage emerged. They would eventually become impassable canyons. Within two years, our eldest would pack her belongings — clothes, books, heart — and leave home. And leave us. Overnight, I was barefoot on Everest. Marcus Garvey without a ship. This puzzle was now sky, the pieces of my love life scattered across it, and my mother, the one person who seemed to know how to live like a rainbow in the clouds, the woman with the answers I needed like winter needed snow, was resting in peace. And I drifted. In sadness. Seeking memory. Barbara Elaine Johnson Alexander was my first teacher. She read to us fables and fiction after dinner. Taught us Swahili at breakfast. Jambo meant Hello. And Kupenda meant to love. I was her firstborn, full of independence and rebellion. When I didn't get my way, she would often spoil my sulking with stories that either made me howl with laughter or hang on the cliff of her tongue. I fell in love with her because of this. Because of the tender power of her voice. She made words dance off the page and into my imagination. Her morning wake‑up calls were soul songs — chorus and verse. She called us for dinner like we'd won something. A nighttime poem became a play became a production that me and my sisters embraced. Our bedrooms were Broadway. She taught me an appreciation of language by reciting Lucille Clifton and Nikki Giovanni aloud. She showed me rhythm and melody when she turned off the television, to our dismay, and sang African folktales, like "The Beautiful Girl Who Had No Teeth," which Eartha Kitt made famous. And no matter how many times I wanted to hear Dr. Seuss's Fox in Socks, she let me hear it. When I could read on my own, she listened to me. Over and over. She helped me to love each day with words. And that gave me courage.

From "Why Fathers Cry at Night" by Kwame Alexander. Copyright © 2023 by Kwame Alexander. Reprinted with permission of Little, Brown and Company. All rights reserved.

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"Why Fathers Cry at Night" by Kwame Alexander

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"Why Fathers Cry at Night: A Memoir in Love Poems, Recipes, Letters, and Remembrances" by Kwame Alexander (Little, Brown and Company), in Hardcover, eBook and Audio formatskwamealexander.com

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