Dad's Birthday is Today

To celebrate what would have been dad's 86th birthday, (this is the first one we have reached since his passing), I offer this remembrance of him, in his honor and with all my love.

There were a few things dad did that may have bordered on excess. We are reminded by experts that almost anything in excess is probably not good for you and will catch up to you in "the end". In the end it was an early life excess that creeped in and took him from us (smoking), not the ones I write about here.

Dad loved to drink Manhattans sometimes by the hat-full. He would say, " The best Manhattan is made with cheap whisky and a splash of good vermouth." He found several kindred spirits in their retirement park and hardly a holiday, dance, pot-luck, "no reason" party and at times not even a day could go by without a serious buzz in the room by mid-afternoon.

He was a happy guy that loved to joke and laugh. The more the liquid courage flowed the jokier and laughier (and louder) he got. He was very entertaining. "The life of they party'" kind of guy.

Dad loved his family and would do anything at any time if asked. He frequently offered to help before being asked if he knew there was a need. I don't recall him ever looking for pay-back. I don't know if that constitutes an "excess" or not, but I am pretty sure it sustained him rather than hurt him. We have been blessed/lucky as a family to not have had too much tragedy. Drama we can do, on occasion, but for the most part, we have been beating the odds when it comes to deeply cutting unanticipated loss.

Moving on, dad loved to cook (particularly on the gas grill outside) but his favorite was breakfast. On any given Sunday he would make huge meals frying up a pound or more of bacon, eggs to order and toasting an entire loaf of bread, depending on the crowd (usually children and grandchildren). For himself however, he developed a morning ritual that lasted almost to his last day.

In advance he would grill up a big batch of blueberry pancakes. Each pancake was remarkably uniform in size (about the size of a teacup saucer) and in distribution of the berries. Not just a stack was grilled, but stacks and stacks. When he was done he would break them down, three to a pile, wrap them in that clear sticky wrap and pop them in the freezer. I think he liked them better out of the freezer and "nuked" rather than freshly grilled.

The breakfast meat he favored was hot Italian Sausage from Albertson's. Not the typical sweet little breakfast sausage links but the real deal you think of more in a tomato sauce over pasta. He would slice a link length-wise and slow fry it in a little butter, pressing it down in the pan to hold it's flat shape. I didn't see him do this, but I think sometimes he added a bit of crushed red pepper to ensure there was an undeniable spicy-fire inside each bite.

By the time the sausage was ready the entire house smelled of seared seasoned pork and would for at least an hour after he finished eating. He would "nuke" the pancakes for a minute, plate them with a pass or two of butter between each and lay the sausage across the top like a cherry on a sundae. Then he poured the Old Log Cabin maple syrup on, not just to coat the pancakes, but to cover the plate until the river of sweet goo almost ran over the edge. The act of pouring the syrup was usually accompanied by, "Ummm or Oooh!"

Mom would always say, "He eats like that (pointing at the plate in disgust) and I gain the weight!" That usually brought a smile to his lips, but didn't slow him down at all.

A half-teaspoon of sugar in his coffee and stir baby stir. Dad would work on the meat-topped stack like a surgeon. He made certain there was a piece of meat for every bite of pancake, no spillage of syrup over the edge and, as he made room from his progress, he would chase the dwindling lake of syrup around the plate to ensure adequate coverage per bite.

I remember at meals he used to be a very fast eater, said he learned that in the Army. This meal however, he took his time with and savored every single bite. There was never a morsel left.

I miss the smell of pan fried Italian Sausage and the sound of his spoon clanging and scraping across the inside of the cup. Ummm!

Hope you liked the story pop!