Friday, June 17, 2016
Why Father's Day matters
My father was a corporal in the United States Army during World War II. His assignment was that of cook. I'm in possession of his Official Recipe Manual. It sits on a bookcase in my home, near a spot where I often sit and in a place where I can access it readily. Occasionally I will browse its uninspired government-issue recipes, but never have felt a need to prepare any of them.
Just a couple days ago I received this photograph. It is the only picture that I have of my father at work in his Army kitchen, such as it is. Already it is among my most prized possessions.
My father's name was Michael. He lived to be 54, just old enough to witness his New York Mets win the 1969 World Series but well shy of seeing his three sons make it out of grade school, let alone experiment with becoming men.
Except for the occasional Crispy Leftovers Dish, my father did none of the cooking around our house. Every day he opened the family's fountain service store at 5 a.m., and didn't close til around 7 p.m. There was no time to practic his military-learned kitchen craft. Besides, my mother was born to cook. Ask anybody who lived within half a mile of our apartment in Brooklyn; they'll tell you. Mom's husband just wasn't needed to rack up stove time when he was at home with his wife and kids, and so he didn't.
Not being a parent it's been a long time since Father's Day has meant very much to me. But this year I find myself thinking about it a lot, and I'm sure that I have this old photograph to thank. Just last evening I was sipping wine in my kitchen and fixing something to eat. And I swear, all I could think about was how good it would be to cook a big, special dinner for my father on Sunday. I'm still thinking about it now.
Like all things that occur between fathers and sons, the results might be difficult to determine. I can't say that my father would be proud of the way I handle myself in the kitchen, or in all the other important things that determine how well a man lives his life.
I can hope, though. And I do. Because it matters. And probably always will.
Happy Father's Day everybody!
Posted by Mister Meatball at 2:02 PM