Father at the Wheel - Feb 5 2026

 

Father at the Wheel

Feb 5 2026

They remind me of those long drives

after dark

in my Dad’s immaculate Buick. 

The 3 of us

in the big back seat

well past my bedtime,

eyes half-closed, half-asleep

half in-and-out of dreams,

lulled

by the heater’s steady whirr

and the rumble of the road

as tires hypnotically turned. 

The windows were frosted, street lights blurred,

and securely tucked

in fitful slumber

we gave no thought to drunk drivers

punctured tires

black ice,

breakdowns

white-outs

or blind-siding deer.

With our father at the wheel of the family car

we were safe,

and the trip

felt more like levitation

than hard-earned miles.

The night is black

on the icy lane

that winds its way home.

My two tired dogs

are curled-up in the big back seat

that’s become their own, 

so it’s hard to tell

which nose and tail

belongs to whom.

In the ghostly glow

of the dashboard light

I glance at my hands on the wheel

and see my fathers’ there;

the past repeating,

but now

with me in the driver's seat.

And while the  precious cargo is different

it really hasn’t changed.

I think of what one slip

near the cliff-edge might mean,

or a heavy foot on the pedal;

but my girls

fast asleep

are their usual oblivious selves. 

Is their faith in me

beyond question?

Or are they so sublimely naive

that there are no questions?

I envy them,

simple animals

who live so much in the present

there are no contingencies or collisions,

no accidents

or future tense

to unsettle an innocent soul.

Perhaps they think the car stays still

while the world turns,

home appearing

like a rearing wooden horse 

on its circling carousel.

But more likely, their natural state is surrender

to whatever fate decrees,

too passive

to act for themselves,

too trusting

to survive in the wild

without human help.

I recall looking out with half closed eyes

as reality spooled by

and fitful dreams intruded.

But theirs are tightly shut

and their sleep is deep,

fully contented

and lost in doggie dreams.

I ease my foot off the pedal,

peering out

through the scrim of gauzy frost

with extra wary eyes.

I realize that “cliff- edge” may sound overly dramatic, but there actually is one: a sharp bend in the two-lane road just a couple of feet inside a steep drop-off; no guardrail, not even a warning sign.