[Verse 1 — warm, detailed, unhurried] I was eight years old beside him, flashlight shaking in my hands. He was underneath the bathroom sink, working loose a rusted clamp. Water running down his sleeve, I lit the wall, the wrench, his knee— everywhere except the one place he was asking me to see. He never raised his voice. He only said… [Chorus — reassuring, instantly singable] Hold the flashlight, steady as you can. Little to the left now— yeah, right there, young man. Don’t worry ’bout the answer. We’ll get it right in time. Just hold the flashlight. Son, you’re doing fine. [Turnaround — acoustic and electric guitar answer] [Verse 2 — present day, more movement] Now my boy stands in the doorway, asking ten things all at once. I’m reaching underneath the counter, trying not to lose a nut. He lights the floor, the pipe, my shoulder— everywhere except my hand. I can feel my patience leaving, then I hear my father again. [Chorus] Hold the flashlight, steady as you can. Little to the left now— yeah, right there, young man. Don’t worry ’bout the answer. We’ll get it right in time. Just hold the flashlight. Son, you’re doing fine. [Instrumental Break — restrained electric guitar and pedal steel] [Bridge — honest, emotionally direct] He may forget what we were fixing or why it took all day. But he won’t forget how I made him feel when the light went the wrong way. So I breathe before I answer, give the boy a little time, and pass along what Dad gave me: “Son, you’re doing fine.” [Final Chorus — fuller but not oversized] Hold the flashlight, steady as you can. Little to the left now— yeah, right there, young man. You don’t have to know the answer. We’ll get it right in time. Just hold the flashlight. Son, you’re doing fine. [Final Tag — softly sung, band resolving] Right there, son… You’re doing fine.
