They live more than an hour away—thanks to traffic more so than true distance. One is to the west. The other to the south. They have lives, work and person pursuits that keep them busy. One works out and rides horses. One spends time with his girlfriend. Friends fill in the other gaps leaving little time to make the trek to see the parents. I wish it were different, but I completely understand it. We are watching our own growing up from the other side of the windshield. That’s life. So, when the stars align, you don’t waste the moment.
They came the day after Father’s Day. There were no schedules to keep them away or to pull them away too soon. They came with a mission in mind: to spend time with their dad. I say “dad” instead of “father.” Anyone can be a father. Dads show up and are there at all hours to answer calls, to offer advice, to be someone to complain to when the world doesn’t seem to be listening. I’m not bragging, but I have tried to be that man from the day they arrived. It is the biggest responsibility I’ve ever taken on and the hardest job I’ve ever loved. I would have it no other way.
I thought we’d go out for a nice meal, laugh about the old times and dream about tomorrow. They had a better idea. Both work in hospitality and the last place they wanted to be on their day off is in a restaurant. My son the chef and his sister the bartender decided to cook for dear ole dad. Being a bachelor during the week–my wife works in another town two hours away so driving four hours daily isn’t an option–I didn’t have anything in the larder. Off to the grocery store the three of us went. Without my wife around, it was a rare unsupervised trip, which is always a dangerous thing.
My son voted for surf and turf. Since he was doing the cooking, it was fine with us. Steak and shrimp went into the basket along with fresh corn, leeks and spring onions. He brought some curry from home looking to do a Thai-inspired shrimp dish with edamame, corn and leeks. There were little roly-poly potatoes and some chimichurri for the steak.
I set the Green Egg ablaze, and they set about slicing and prepping. Soon, I was smoking the shrimp skins using the coconut shells my son brought for just such a task. I was clueless as to why I was performing such a task figuring it to be the culinary equivalent to snipe hunting. Not so. He used them to make a broth for the finished shrimp dish. Then, the steak and shrimp were grilled. The latter seasoned to perfection with the curry.
It wasn’t long before we were sitting down on the patio on a pleasant late June afternoon for a sumptuous feast. The conversations shared during cooking continued around the table as we loaded our plates and began to enjoy the fruits of our labor. (well…mostly that of my son).
I am not a great writer. For if I were, I would have the words to describe that meal. It was what a true meal should be. Great food to nourish the body. Wonderful fellowship to feed the soul. There we were. Around the table just as we had been nightly when they were growing up and we were growing older. The laughter we shared in those times was back. We reminisced and talked about future plans. They were only here for four hours. But we packed a lot of living into our time together.
Over the years I have been asked what I would like for Father’s Day. Each time I’m at a loss. I don’t really want anything. But after spending time in the kitchen and around the table with the two people I’m proud call me “dad,” I know what I want next year.
