For Dad 02/02/08

On February 4, 1971 three children were called into Judge's chambers at the Sedgwick County Courthouse in Wichita, Kansas. We entered one at a time. I can only tell you what happened with the eldest. At that age I was a voracious reader, having consumed nearly the entire library at Carter Elementary school and I had a habit of tagging most adults I met with an animal or bird personae. The judge looked at me over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles. I thought he looked like an owl. He had the bushiest eyebrows I had ever seen and his jowly face seemed to be perching directly upon his black robe. When he reached for the papers on his desk, he lifted great black winged arms. He seemed friendly enough, if not particularly wise. What did I know? I was eleven.

The Owl Judge asked me two questions.

"Do you know why you are here?"

I did.

"Are you sure you want to change your last name?"

I did.

After we left the courthouse we went out to eat. I don't remember where, but we went out to eat a lot back then. It was new for our family. We'd been pretty poor before Mom married David. Now David was "Dad" and we could afford to eat in restaurants. My brothers and I were trying to get the hang of putting our napkins in our laps and eating with our mouths closed. It was hard, but we were trying. We really liked our new Dad. I think we really liked eating something other than Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, or rice with catsup and hotdogs.

Life wasn't all dinners out, though. There were adjustments. This new father wanted us to wear shoes. He wanted us in bed by nine o'clock on school nights. Suddenly there were rules. Rules stunk.

I remember times as a teen when I screeched those dreaded words, "You can't tell me what to do, you're not my real father!" I remember the look of pain that flashed across his eyes before he did whatever a father had to do.

In the years since, we've become a family. Dad has watched us struggle through school and marriage. He's been a tyrant and a teacher. We lost our Mom to illness and Dad hung in there, holding us up, struggling with his own grief distantly because he was - at the time of her death - the ex husband.

My father and I are very close now. We vacation together. He is my counselor regarding career decisions. I value the life experience he has under his belt. He has a vested interest in me and therefore his advice holds all that much more merit.

He will arrive in Houston for a visit later this week. I'll mention that this is our adoption anniversary week. He will say, "Oh, right, I almost forgot." It's the same thing each year. Neither of us will ever forget. Neither of us wants to.

Deleted. (Cellular Purge)

Intersection break.

The NPR newsman

says the market's up

but housing's in slump.

Next car over a

gangster shouts a warning

to his backseat toddler

while his bass rocks the road.

Two metro cycles

keep me sitting

through the light.

I think of leMetro.

I think of caviar and vodka.

I think of ICE and am suddenly cold.

Reaching for my phone I find your

entry and confirm that I want to

Delete?

1.Yes

The green arrow points my way west.

I follow the path homeward bound,

wrapped in the warmth of the sable sun.

Do svidania.