In this order:
1. I love my dad.
2. Sorry mom.
Now, more details:
Regarding item #1. As you know, yesterday was Father’s Day, and I love my dad. He has been a hard worker my whole life, loves my mom, my sister and me, and our husbands, and our children. He has exceptional integrity and business sense. He is wise. He is a devoted friend to his friends. He is strong willed…which allowed him to ski 66 days this winter despite the intense pain from an injury to his leg. He makes the best hamburgers and great margaritas. He is a loving Gramp. He gives good back rubs. He gives good advice.
His only downfall is that he loves meatloaf.
And, now, some more details:
Regarding item #2. I invited myself, ONLY myself, no children or husband, over for dinner at Mom and Dad’s last night. I sent my boys out with their father for dinner, and I went, alone, to have dinner with my father. I offered to bring Dad a pepperoni pizza. But, lo an behold, Mom had already prepared him a meatloaf! His favorite!
Mom, dinner last night was delicious! The broiled tomatoes topped with seasoned bread crumbs, baked potatoes with sour cream and butter, black beans with cilantro and feta were amazing! Oh. Did I forget to mention the meatloaf? I guess it was a Freudian slip, because as you know, Mom, I hate meatloaf. That’s part of what I apologized about in #2. But, really, the apology is for the hideous meatloaf picture I took on the sly last night, and the seriously awful comments about meatloaf that may follow. Please don’t take them personally. I love you. I just don’t love meatloaf.
Now, first of all, WHAT IS THAT BROWN STUFF? No, I know the brown lump on the right is the meatloaf, and the liquidy stuff on the left is some kind of liquidy stuff, but the tannish brownish substance in the middle? What on earth is that?
From this picture, although not the most flattering photo of my Dad’s favorite Mom-made meatloaf, one might decide to NEVER eat meatloaf AGAIN! It’s like a big container of Spam, dumped upside down with the goop slobbered all over the pan. Thank goodness the void on the left of the picture means the second meatloaf had already been removed from the pan and set on a serving plate, sans slobber. While meatloaf on a serving plate is not appetizing to me either, if I had seen this mess before eating, there’s a distinct possibility I would not have been able to stomach the meatloaf at all.
But, I didn’t. And I still have vivid pictures in my mind of looking at Dad last night, his smiling eyes two feet from mine, as I touched the knife to the meatloaf. I told him, “This is a sign of a devoted, loving daughter.” I cut an inch thick slice of meatloaf (I can’t even stand the smell) and loafed it onto my plate, then drenched it in Heinz chili sauce. Not just any ketchup, mind you, but the same Heinz chili sauce that has decorated my Mom’s meatloaf for all or most of my 38 years. I wouldn’t call mine decoration. I’d call it an attempt to decrease my gag reflex.
And, now, at the table with Mom, Dad and our overflowing plates of Father’s Day dinner, we enjoyed each other’s company. And, I saved my meatloaf for last. Usually, I save the best for last. But this time, I just couldn’t eat the worst first. Then, I added more chile sauce.
Mom, do you remember the conversation about the bank? Well, it was about that time that I was finally taking bites of my meatloaf, looking at Dad, interested in what he was saying, and trying really hard not to laugh. I was actually having to suppress the above mentioned gag reflex. I’m not kidding. The texture, the smell, the chunks of green bell pepper, the taste, all prove how much I love my Dad.
I choked down his favorite meal, without hardly complaining.
Thank goodness for the orange sherbet with chocolate sauce for dessert. That forgives a multitude of meatloaf sins.
I love you Dad. And for you, ONLY for you, I will eat meatloaf again. But next Father’s Day, I hope I catch Mom BEFORE she makes the meatloaf, and I promise to bring pepperoni pizza.
– Love, Lindsey