A Traveler's Fleece, An Anchor's Eyes

After three hours straight
in the car with my father
even the scenic route
became boring.
Winding two-lane highways
through the back hills of New England
all blended into the same monotonous route.
The old man would sense my
sudden disillusionment with our trek
and try to muster up whatever
bit of excitement that he could
sometimes in the false form
of a gentlemen's competition.

"You see that car way up ahead?"
he asked a tired, ten-year-old me.
"Can you read the license plate?"

"No way, Dad," I mumbled
my head against the passenger side window.
"It's too far to see."

Taking his cue
he squinted overzealously
making sure to emphasize the fact
that he was tapping into some superhuman ability
in order to decipher the characters printed
on the back of the license plate
that was at least an eighth-of-a-mile ahead of us.

"CK...P...," and he'd pause, squeezing his eyes
even tighter to further the illusion.
For a self-proclaimed Christian he sure was
keen on getting the best of an innocent child.
"...638. That's it. Let's go take a look."

He managed to find the accelerator
for long enough to catch up to the car
and verify the plate number.
He was correct. I was impressed
and slightly in awe of my father.

It took me the rest of the trip to figure it out
but I did: he read the plate and memorized it
then dropped back a good distance and waited
for me to zone out for long enough to be duped
into believing that he could see that far.

He failed to see farther
as the fate of our future now tells
and it wasn't the worst of his fibs.
Still, there are times
when I'm grateful for the fact
that he ever lowered himself
down to the level of us sinners
for long enough to seem remotely human.

And somehow I know
that he learned that trick
from the same man he swore
he'd never become.