I see him standing at the bottom of the stairs in our Gretna house
white shirt and tie calling impatiently for me to come down to breakfast
bill guest speaking importantly from the radio in the kitchen and then I
come down sleepy-eyed the only one left in the house all others off at
university or working sitting down to toast and chokecherry jam and
coffee but first he reads the calendar devotional thick index fingers
rolling up the thin paper as he reads in German of course then a prayer
and the radio goes back on cbc news marking the day with an event or
two from the middle east I may ask a question and he knows the answer
but it is usually a wordless meal before we rush into the brown dodge and
we drive the tree-lined streets to the school where he is the principal and
I am in awkward grade 9 in class he was a different person animatedly
telling stories about Martin Luther or John A. and making history come
alive me not questioning the disconnect between the taciturn father and
brilliant teacher just accepting the unspoken love that flowed between our
distant but intertwined spirits
No comments:
Post a Comment