Wearing Dad’s Hat
by Wilda Morris

To lighten the mood as we parceled out
what was left of Dad’s things,
I plopped Dad’s straw hat on my head.
That looks cute on you, my sister chirped.
Why don’t you keep it? So I did.
I put it on again this morning, not
as a fashion statement but a declaration
of love and reminder of Dad
in suit and tie slipping behind the wheel
of his Ford, Mother beside him.
Sis and me in the back. He’ll drop us off
at church early, then drive
to the hospital-school for handicapped
children. When he returns, he’ll have two
children in the car, two wheelchairs
in the trunk. After Sunday School
and worship, he’ll take them home,
then return for us. When I put on Dad’s hat,
I know I’m called to notice those who need
my help, called to do what I can for others
as Dad always did.
 

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