Lately my father has been riding in the backseat
on Momdays as I chauffeur my mother in her car.
He is, of course, belted in—the man who installed
seatbelts in our 1965 turquoise Rambler,
long before any law required them. He grins as
he listens to my mother chatter, something he did
for 47 years before he vanished into mystery.
His voice, garbled and unintelligible, still
answers the phone—my mother reluctant
to change the old message:
Hello, you have reached the Haag residence…
He’s been gone almost 20 years, and he catches
my eye in the rearview, winks now and then,
though I can’t tell if he’s commenting on Mother’s
running monologue, or if he’s giving me a version
of his “atta girl” whacks on the shoulder that
could leave the faintest purple splotch.
“Don’t hit the girls!” Mom would yell, that being
her job when she thought we needed it. But,
in truth, I loved feeling his amiable punch,
his you-can-do-this vote of confidence.
I catch his eye in the mirror as her monologue
washes over us like gentle rain, my hair nearly
the same as his snowy shade in later years,
as mine when I’d sit tiny and trusting on his lap,
my small hand wrapped around his finger, each
of us delighted to be in the other’s presence.
Güd wrtr 
OMG I love the poems you do about your dad! And I love seeing this picture. You look so much like your father – your face a slimmer version of his, but I recognize that open warmth and amiability in his face from knowing and loving you!
In this poem I love the presence of the father in the back seat and that sense of ongoing shared experience with him, as the mother’s running monologue “washes over us like gentle rain”. And I love the character detail that he’s belted in, and that the father character installed seat belts long before they were law. That tells me something profound about his love and care for his family — particularly those young girls riding in the back.
P.S. My mom’s message, that she recorded in a wooden formal voice (SO scared of answering machines) still says “So please leave a message for Tom or Lennie” even though my dad died in 2011.
Thanks so much, Sue! I love how this rings a chord about your own family, as well as appreciate the details that you like, too. My mom often says she thinks my sister and I look like our dad, too… but so many people now tell me that I look like her… a tribute to them both!
P.S. And I love the note about your mom’s answering machine, too. Very sweet!