The Long Way to Forgiving My Father

He taught me how to check the oil“by never once explaining why,“just handing me the rag and waiting“for me to ruin it myself.“

I used to think that was the whole of him —“withheld instructions, a doorway“he stood in without stepping through.“

It took me twenty years to notice“he was teaching me the only way“he'd ever learned a thing himself:“by getting it wrong first, alone,“with someone standing near enough to watch.“

I am still angry about the rag.“I have stopped being angry about the man.“