Dad had taken me to have my hair cut short. “He keeps trying to look like a Beatle,” he told the chuckling barber.
Afterwards, in the car, I hid my head under a baseball cap.
Backing out of the slot, Dad slammed his brakes. My cap flew off. A long-haired teenager wheeling past behind him on a bike screamed, “Watch where you’re goin’, old man!”
"Old man?" -- I'd never thought of my father as old.
Forty years ago, and Dad a decade younger than I am now.
day after day
this same blue sky
by Roger Jones
New Braunfels, Texas
first pubished in Frogpond 29:3 (Autumn 2006)