dad doesn't wipe my headlights clean
mom doesn't say "I hate to see you go"
- as once both were true
but I'm terribly lucky and wouldn't trade
days that pass differently now, simply because they do
and for all this in the fold of your hands, I knew
At the end of those weekends when I'd come home from college, I'd pack my truck with clean laundry, extra food and a fresh $20 bill from my dad (well sometimes it was two bills). I hadn't really studied - like I had planned to do. (Forget it Maslow, my self-actualisation levels weren't quite high enough) I would say 'bye' to mom in the living room and dad would come down to the garage. In an small way, I didn't want to go and I think in the same odd way, he didn't want me to go. Anxiously, he'd ask me if I had changed my oil or if I needed anything. And as we headed out into the driveway, dad would bring his homemade windshield washer stuff in the Windex bottle and would tell me how it was "good stuff" and that newspaper was always better than using paper towels. This was a scene repeated many times - it was a way of staying physically connected until the last minute. I think, more importantly it was also his precious way of protecting me.
He would always be sure to wipe my headlights as my truck rumbled to life - just to be sure I was extra safe.