In Chesterfield and Spats

In Chesterfield and Spats The father of the girl I stare at now, as we wait for our morning bus, stands across the street, tall and proper in his chesterfield and spats. He is waiting for a bus that goes in the opposite direction. He wears a derby, swings a silver cane, smokes a green panatela. Suddenly he pirouettes and smiles at my daughter. She takes the same bus to school every morning. That night at supper, I ask her about him. "Dad, he's super!" At 12, she knows. "Dad, he rides the same bus as me every morning. He checks my homework and I ask him questions. Dad, he knows all the answers." Donal Mahoney