Chip On My Shoulder

I have a chip on my shoulder.

I got it from my mother—

or rather, it’s always been there, but I only noticed it today.

Balancing on the razor’s edge of dual consciousness, this chip is my counterweight.

It’s true what they say, you know:

Twice as good, half the help.

“Boy, don’t get comfortable.

They are not your friends.”

Growing up in a world like that will give you a chip,

just like mine.

You can’t see mine, but I can tell you what it feels like.

It’s the adrenaline rush that keeps you up at night because you know

your qualifications, your motivations, and your intentions are under scrutiny.

You must always have a mindful retort for those.

It’s that extra push that gets you the “A.”

It’s the understanding that there are no other options.

There are no safety nets for the Talented Tenth.

Have you ever seen a man at 104 years old?

How life outlasts the body, yet his mind remains uncontainable?

It’s that chip that keeps him going,

that gets him up this afternoon.

Old Granddad in a coffee cup,

fried fish on a plate, and a question:

Are you a good man?

My gaze falters, and Dad steps in to straighten the chip,

as if fastening a helmet or adjusting a crown.

“Straighten your shoulders. Look good, feel good, play good.”

I’m doing the best I can.

“You’re not a producer if you can’t duplicate the results.”

I’ve discovered my dual consciousness,

balancing on a razor’s edge,

and this chip is my counterweight.

??2025 London Thompson, Ed.D.