my father, the ghost

One day my mom takes me downtown to the bank to meet my father, the banker. He smiles when he sees us. Son, my bank has more money than any other bank in the world, he explains. He gives me a dollar in quarters, and mom and I go for ice cream.

Another day, my father works as a doctor. I get sick with a fever, so he rushes home to see me. Smiling, he takes my temperature and wipes the sweat off my forehead. I enjoy his smile tremendously.

Actually, my father's not a banker or a doctor. I'm not sure what he is or isn't. Perhaps he's a fisherman, and he takes me on his big boat. Or maybe he works in a library and brings me a new book to read every night. In some other world, my father fights evil, capitalist bankers with a sword and brings home flowers for mom. My father, the superhero.

My father is neither this nor that. I really do see him at the bank, the doctor's office, and the library; on a big boat; and in my dreams, fighting capitalism. I see him everywhere, in fact. But, if you see him, please tell him I just want my father, the father.