Take your child to work day

I float down through autumn trees into the yard behind his colonial brick home

He comes through the kitchen door and walks to the long grass field

Preflight rituals and then we climb into the Rockwell Commander

He looks around and calls out “Clear!”

We taxi, take off and the ground falls away

Soaring now in a sailplane, steep banked turns and stalls just for fun

“Your plane,” he says, and I try to gain altitude beneath a pillowy cloud

We land behind the Goodman’s farmhouse 

Dad has been their family doctor for several generations

Practicing the lost art of bedside medicine

A doctor’s son can only imagine the details of his father’s profession

I wait on the porch with an iced tea

We head out on his motorcycle to the nearby Civil War battlefield

He scans meditatively across hallowed ground

Dad gives walking tours, describing key players, strategies and engagements

(Unofficially – he simply begins conversations with tourists)

Sundown, we return to his home and den

Manhattan up with cherry and reading chair

I browse his books and antique knick-knacks

He asks if I’d like a drink and perhaps a game of chess