One of my father’s robes is sky blue with  
gold shapes that look like paramecia I
imagine are swimming in the deep sea

water he explored on trips to the South Pacific  
where he stopped being all business for a few  
weeks and made friends with the islanders. His  

other robe is heavier. It’s black with small white
figures that could be snowflakes or stars. My
father wore this robe during winters in Utah

where he snowshoed, chopped wood and built
hot fires to bake his bread. While in his clothes,
I wear my father’s integrity. The worst thing I

ever heard him say about anyone is, "I believe  
that fellow would let you make a mistake." His  
suits fit okay: a weave of wool, compassion and

generosity. My father was rarely a combatant--
white handkerchiefs stick out of his suitcoat  
pockets like surrender flags to petty conflict.


© by Ronald Lauderbach.
Used with the author’s permission.