Rearview Mirror - Nov 17 2023

 

Rearview Mirror

Nov 17 2023

I did not inherit his skill

at telling stories.

How he relished

relating tales of his past,

suitably embellished, of course.

Stories of his prairie hometown.

First date with mom.

The war.

Of the stern dad

who believed in order

King and country

the value of money and work.

Who reigned at the head of the table,

and believed that children were not to speak

if not first spoken to.

Of the new secretary

who, smiling expectantly , brought coffee to his desk,

and how his old man disapproved

of such unheard of foolishness;

what nonsense is this,

a “coffee break”

in the middle of the day?!!

The story

about prairie winters

when winters were actually cold,

so flat-bottomed tires

froze lop-sided,

and you needed chains to drive.

To us, Winnipeg

was an almost mythological place,

far away

and not quite believable.

Back when long distance calls were big events,

and as we crowded around the single phone

with the long coiled cord

attached to wall,

my grandfather's stern voice

was a source of great excitement

for the few seconds

each of us had with him.

I had never seen my father display

such quiet deference.

But began to understand

how he both feared and admired

his own curmudgeonly dad.

That mine

who I thought strict and old fashioned

was really a softy at heart.

And how the sins of the father

come down to us,

story-tellers or not.

As for me, I have no one

to pass them on to.

The chain breaks.

The history is lost.

And the myth

is just a place on the map

where no one lives anymore.

Passed through

on the new ring road,

with nothing more than a backward glance

in the rearview mirror.