He’ll Always Have a Seat at the Table

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image source: The Relatives Came by Cynthia Rylant, illustrated by Stephen Gammell:
a must read if you have children or you’re simply a lover of gorgeous literature

I remember road trips. The excitement of packing the car long before the sun came up and then climbing into the back seat full of anticipation because watching the colors of cloud-swept skies as the sun took its rightful place on the horizon was a treat like no other for a six-year-old.

We’d creep into the car without a sound so that we wouldn’t wake the neighbors, me giggling, convinced the curtains in the house next door had moved and Mary Beth or Margie were jealously watching our departure, eyes crusted with sleep and piqued with curiosity.

Once the sky had entertained us for a while and we had traveled a respectable distance, my dad would find the perfect place to stop for coffee and doughnuts. I’m sure he planned the route around his favorite food stops. My dad would have loved Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. Now mind you, we had a whole cooler full of food in the back seat but stop we must. It was part of the adventure. I often wonder now if he placed the cooler there to feed us or to keep us from jostling each other in the back seat.

In addition to the cooler, my dad had a series of pre-trip tasks that he orchestrated judiciously before we left the safety of the driveway.

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The tune-up.

My dad was meticulous about taking care of his car, particularly before a road trip. New tires, new belts, new brakes, whatever he could do to ensure our safety, even if he had already taken care of all that just a few months prior. I’m sure the garage owner knew him by first name. At his retirement party my dad’s colleagues teased him playfully about his daily trips to the post office, the bank, or the mechanic. They made little signs that he could hang beside his desk before he left so they’d know where to find him: post office, bank, mechanic … doughnut cart.

The cooler.

My father loved to shop for groceries. He frequented the butcher shop, the bakery, and the smaller grocery stores that dotted the Buffalo boulevards long before larger chains pushed them out. I’m sure he missed those smaller shops when Wegmans opened its Buffalo branch in the late 70s but he was also delighted that he could spend an entire afternoon (sometimes the whole day) in one store and save a few bucks on gas, too. He was far more likely to save a few dollars at the pumps than on food. When my dad shopped for food he wasn’t looking for bargains, he was looking for ‘the best’. Best meat, best baked goods, best produce. He wouldn’t settle for anything less. The cooler would be filled to the brim with colossal sandwiches, chips, fresh fruit, and soda, or “pop” as we called it. To this day I can’t remember ever drinking a glass of milk as a child, except maybe at breakfast. We drank soda. And the sandwiches would be piled high with freshly sliced cold cuts from the Columbia Market: prosciutto, pepper-crusted ham, capicola, salami. My dad loved his cold cuts.

The maps.

My mother manned the maps though my dad most likely traced the route a dozen times over with various pencils and highlighter pens just to be sure we knew where we were going, even though he knew those routes like the back of his hand. A AAA membership added yet another layer of security. My dad was all about safety. Not only did he have roadside assistance (which he never needed with all that careful car care), he now had triptiks. Dad loved those triptiks … boxes and boxes of trip ticks. He procured a new triptik for each trip even though he only had about two or three road trip destinations. There was always construction to look out for or a tasty detour that took us to a roadside stand selling the sweetest, crunchiest apples in Western New York. By the time we found the apples we had consumed most of the sandwiches so we had plenty of room in the cooler for more fruit. Somehow that cooler never emptied. Kind of like our refrigerator.

The destination.

Portageville (New York) and Chatham (New Jersey) were the two main attractions. It was no accident that those two cities held the best cooks on the planet: my Godmother Rose and my Aunt Pauline. Oh my, how those women could cook. Rose would lay out a spread that could feed a small army even though she was feeding only four adults and four children. I don’t remember what we did with all that food when the meal ended. Sometimes I think we just rolled from one meal to the next. Aunt Pauline did the same. A meal in her kitchen could last all afternoon.  My dad called every meal a ‘party’.

The departure

Dad would have turned 93 last week. I was secretly dreading that day. I knew this was going to be a season of firsts: first “would be” birthday, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas. There has to be a season of firsts when you say goodbye to a loved one.

At first I thought there must be a post-death script written for this kind of passage, a protocol on grief. I thought about wakes and the traditions of my ancestors. I pictured all these little Italian ladies wearing black and lighting candles weeks, months, sometimes years after their loved ones had departed.
 I couldn’t see myself wearing black and lighting candles so I thought about how I might just spend a day honoring my dad with all things “Sam.”

I visited my favorite market and filled the cart with all the fixings for a celebratory meal. The man loved lemon so lemon it was: chicken with lemon and capers, basmati rice, a simple salad. Lemon cake, of course. And then, I heard this whisper in my ear, “Sue Ann, let’s go get that All-Clad Copper-Core skillet that you dream of owning but never buy.” It was almost like he was standing there beside me saying, “Life is too short. Go for it.” So. . .

I splurged on an All-Clad Copper-Core 10-inch skillet
In honor of my dad’s “would be” birthday.
I could almost see him wink and say,
“Shhhhhh, don’t tell your mother.”
And this skillet cost more than anyone should rightfully pay
for a piece of cookware
but shopping for it felt a like a clandestine affair
and cooking in it?
Bliss.
And I realized that there was a glorious gift
in this decadent splurge
on this first “would be” birthday
and that EVERY time I prepare a meal 
in this skillet,
my dad will be laughing
and winking
and he will, indeed,
have a seat at the table.
He’ll always have a seat at the table.

 

32 thoughts on “He’ll Always Have a Seat at the Table”

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    What a lovely post; you are so right on the season of firsts when you say goodbye to a loved one, and I think that the way that you spent this one was extremely fitting, and beautifully honours your Dad. As we say in the UK, reading this “warmed the cockles of my heart”, on a rather cold Saturday morning. Thank you.

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        Funnily enough I have actually just finished eating an omelet, with sweated red onions, peppers, fresh chilli, and left over new potatoes sliced thinly inside.

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    Your dad reminds me of my grandfather. Similar hat too:) My grandfather loved celebrations and cold cuts and every meal felt like a party with him. I missed him all over again reading about your dad.

    I’m so glad you splurged on that copper skillet! You’ll have it forever and in so many ways continue to share meals with your father:) You’re right…life is too short…go for it!

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    Sue, your post brought memories of growing up in Buffalo, the beef on wick, Teds hot dogs, Anderson’s. I remember your aunt Pauline. We got together at cousin Gloria’s in California for a graduation celebration for 2 of the daughters and we reminisced about times in Buffalo. I miss the Buffalo food but could not deal with the winters. My wife Pat is from the UK and misses certain foods.

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      Sam, I would love to speak with you on the telephone to capture some of those memories. Shall we make a phone date? I believe Michelle (Aunt Pauline’s daughter) is living in California now. I have a few women from the UK in my Luscious Legacy Project and I’m learning all about British foods and traditions. Next week I am going to make Cranachan this week!

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    There are so many things I love about this post. I love the beautiful journey I got to take of that road-trip with you and your family. I love the photo of your dad by the car. I love all the sweet details/memories. I love the meal you made him. And I really love the All-Clad Copper-Core skillet. Everything. I love everything about this post. What a beautiful story. Thank you.

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    What a wonderful way to honor your father, by tying your beautiful use of words with the beautiful memories you have. I send you lots of love in this year of firsts. XO

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    Sue Ann, this post is so SO beautiful, I love that photo of your dad proudly polishing the car. The never emptying cooler, how fabulous, and all those coffee and donut stops. The first year is the hardest, though the sadness never leaves. I love that you bought the skillet. X

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    Such a beautiful, heartwarming post Sue Ann. Your love for your Dad and the memories he has given you really shine through.

    Right from the first word I was transported back to my own childhood road trips in India and how surprisingly similar they were in essence! We would leave early to avoid the heat of the day and the cooler box, full of ice and fruit, would be placed at my mother’s feet in the front to keep her and the car cool! x

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      Yes, Kamina, I imagine these are universal themes and the essence is what we want to feel and remember. I would love to hear more about YOUR road trips in India. Where did you stop and what did you eat?

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    It is almost impossible for me to put into words how much I appreciate you sharing not only your memories of your dad but also how you celebrated him in the most precious and perfect way possible.
    Way to go Sam, way to go Sue Ann!

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    Sue Ann, I loved this post. How you chose to celebrate your dad is perfect, and I kept thinking as I read the post how he must have really influenced you re: your pursuit of culinary-related interests.

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    Sue Ann, you are so blessed to have these wonderful memories of your dad. What beautiful words you write as a tribute to him. Even though he is physically missing from this earth, he is alive and well inside every thought and memory that you carry with you. Sadly, my parents divorced when I was way too young to remember any of the happy times. The upside is that I have seen the joy of the father/daughter relationship through the eyes of my own children. Thank you for sharing your special times with us here. 🙂

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      Thank YOU, Lori, for sharing your story here. I’m so glad you are able to witness the joy in the father/daughter relationship in your own home and that YOU are now the legacy maker. xxoo

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    Always a delight to read your stories and memory reflections, always so much thought and love in your posts. Dads are such a gift and we stay forever their little girl xxx

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      Yes, Farah, I believe we do forever enjoy that father daughter connection when we’re lucky enough to have it. Believe me, I do not take that for granted. I was truly blessed to have such a wonderful dad.

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    What a beautiful post! I felt like I was right there with you on your road trip. I know it is the start of a lot of “firsts” for you and your family, but it sounds like your father will be right there with you every time you honor his memory!

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