On Babysitting

In the Florida room
there's a wooden spindle
autographed with Sharpie
above a cedar window frame
from our father's recent, unofficial
high school reunion.
Multiple handwritings
cover its four sides
all of them different
but decidedly from Westchester.
They wear a confidence
he never had.

"I have no idea why that's up there,"
the six-year-old says.
I do, vaguely, but don't share my hypothesis.
It looks like part of someone's front porch.
My imagination wanders
as he plays with his blocks.
I smirk at the possibility
of our father making mistakes
being human.

In the basement I fold laundry
while he finishes his homework upstairs.
"A bird just crashed into the window,"
he proclaims from the top step
Crayola in hand.
"It happens," I mumble.
And it does.

Here we are:  brothers
26 years apart
and teaching
what most will die without knowing.

Currently reading:
"The Walking Dead:  Compendium 3"


Anonymous said...

At least you have a brother; an only child suffers alone as I know all too well. Perhaps he won't feel as alone as you may have at his age. Perhaps you can teach him the things you had to learn on your own, and he may even teach you a thing or two. To have a sibling, at any age, is something I will never know, and something for you to treasure. I am sure you do. Maybe he'll learn to share your penchant for the art of writing and he can teach you to see the world through the eyes of a little child.

dave said...

very true. who are you?