Shemp, this is absolutely charming, a perfectly lovely tribute to your father.
It's also extremely well written. I'll bet a buck you could get it published, on, say, the Saturday New York Times op-ed page. They usually have at least one op-ed piece on Saturdays that's light and funny and personal (they do today, in fact--have a look). You could probably get it published in a local paper as well, if they're not too squeamish about the language (you may have to clean up a couple of the words, even for the Times), and there are probably lots of other publications as well that would love to have it. You won't be able to get money for it, most likely, but it would be nice to be able to introduce a lot of people to your fascinating father (as well as giving them a course in lobster gender identification), as you've done here with us. Really, really beautiful job. --- In [email protected], "shempmcgurk" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > (I wrote the following for my two brothers on the anniversay of my > dad's passing) > > So I was thinking of my father the other day, being that it was the > first anniversary of his passing...and I thought you may be > interested in this little anecdote. > In the last 5 or 6 years of his life, even before he had his first > stroke, I would cook for him when he came here in the winter, simply > because he was getting on in years; I would cook for him here and > his care-taker, of course, would cook for him back home in the > summer. Breakfasts, though, were his exclusive domain...even after > the stroke and, I assume right up to the last, life-ending stroke of > last year he still made his breakfast of 11 grain cereal, a tomato, > green pepper slices, cheese, and 5 olives. He'd cook the cereal on > the stove, which was quite a feat for an 86-year-old. I always > expected the house to burn down but, to his credit, it never did. > Anyway, I would cook for him but never, ever knew whether he > actually liked my cooking because he was more concerned as a father > to give me positive reinforcement for my activity...so I never knew > what the hell he liked when I made something. I always told him to > be honest with me so that I knew what to make and not make for him > but the feedback system never caught on; it was like dealing with a > Japanese businessman who, as I understand from reading about them, > never tell you their true feelings because their culture is never to > insult their associates so you always have to divine what they're > thinking. "Dad, I'm not a mind reader. Tell me if you don't like > something." The best I could decipher was that the > word "interesting" meant he hated it and "superb" was passable > and "absolutely superb" meant he may actually try it again...but > only once again. The man loved his platitudes and superlatives. > Well, one of the things I knew with 100% certainty that he does like > is seafood and, with the exception of my favourite -- sushi -- he > likes all kinds of it. And the king of seafoods is lobster. The man > loved his lobster. > And you'd think that getting lobster out here in the desert would be > a hard, expensive task but, thanks to the good people at Wal-Mart, > it wasn't. For about $13.00 a pound you can have the near-minimum- > wage Wal-Mart fish-monger scoop out a live lobster in their holding > tank and steam it there for you right on the premises. > And did you know that there is a difference between male and female > lobsters? Females have the roe or babies within them practically > every time you open them up. My experience is that most people love > the females for that reason; not Dad. He loved the males because he > didn't want any little fetuses infringing upon any of his beloved > lobster tail meat...and he also claimed that the male meat tastes > better. > So I learned about 20 years ago from him how to feel for the penis > of a lobster. Yes, I'm not kidding. I got instructions from the man > on how to pick up a lobster at the store, turn him over, and put my > index finger on the double icky protrusions on the crustacean's > underside -- two insect-like mini-extremities on each side of the > underbelly. I know that if they came together in the middle like two > swords crossing at the beginning of a joust that it was a male and > if they just stayed on each side of the underbelly it was a female. > But, oh no, visual inspection wasn't enough; you had to run your > finger over the two digits "and if they're hard, they're male; if > not, they're female." > It's a wonder I haven't needed major psychoanalysis. > And I never got it right. Why? Because the turn-over of personnel at > Wal-Mart, that's why (bear with me here because if I can show you a > cause-effect relationship between the geo-economic hiring practices > of Wal-Mart and the science of crustacean gender-determination I am > an utter genius). > You see, whoever works the fish tanks at Wal-Mart knows enough how > to fish out the lobster you point at outside the tank, and knows how > to steam them but doesn't know the "secret" of penis-feeling that > had been handed down to me in a secret family ceremony. And I'm > sorry, but I am too embarrassed to run my finger over lobster > genitals in a busy Wal-Mart Superstore. And on top of that, every > time the monger would fish out lobsters from the tank it would > attract a crowd (I think Americans view any holding pen with live > animals in it as a petting zoo). So there was no way I was going to > stroke lobster penises in front of the monger, let alone the growing > crowd of moms with tykes in strollers. And, besides, I think > there's a bylaw prohibiting inter-species fondling. > But Dad was right: you do need to get down and dirty; visual > inspection is not enough...you actually do have to feel for it. > So half the lobsters I bought ended up being females and he would > demand to know why I couldn't conduct the simple procedure he had > painstakingly taught me in order to secure males. I would meekly > say that Wal-Mart had a strict rule against feeling lobster genitals > (okay, it was a little white lie) but that I had asked the monger > specifically for males but that he told me he didn't know how to > tell the difference. > "Doesn't know the difference?" Dad would say. "What kind of > operation is Wal-Mart running? What type of training are they > giving them there?" "Dad," I would respond, "they have over 50,000 > items that they sell. Lobster gender identification is not a top > priority in their training schedule." "I simply don't understand > it," he would say, shaking his head in disbelief, "How someone can > sell lobsters and not know the difference between male and > females?" This scenario replayed itself so many times that on one > trip to Wal-Mart's I actually tried to show the monger-of-the- minute > how-to and I've never been more embarrassed in my life. After I > imparted the procedure to him, all he said to me was: "That's more > information than I need to do my job, but thank you anyways." > Okay. Since his first stroke, I did all the shopping for Dad. And my > philosophy for him was always: you can't take it with you, so enjoy > it. So at least once a month I would buy him lobsters...and damn the > cost. > But I would always surprise him with it. While he was inevitably > sitting in the living room watching TV, I would sneak into the > kitchen and "prepare"; that means cutting and shelling the Lobster > in exactly the way he taught me to do it about 20 years ago (I got > similarly exacting instructions for both oyster-shucking and shrimp- > deveining as well..."that's the shit canal, son, and although many > find it to be crunchy once in their mouths, you really don't want to > eat it so get rid of it!"). > So I would, in stealth, prepare his lobster as well as his > condiments and place them on the table along with the necessary > large, empty bowl for shells...and, boy, he needed that because he > cleaned out each and every shell and each and every nook and cranny > of a lobster in a precise, methodical way...nothing was every wasted > in any confrontation between Pater and Homarus Americanus. Plus, he > ate the various parts in the same exact order each and every time: > little appendages first; then the joints; inner body; shells and -- > grand finale -- the tail! > And his condiment was unique. I've only seen people eat lobster with > melted butter or melted garlic butter. Dad hated melted butter with > lobster. He absolutely loved mayonnaise with it along with an over > generous portion of lemon. He mixed them both together in a bowl > which he would then dip his meat into (did you know that in his > younger days Dad made mayonnaise from scratch?). > So I would set all this stuff up for him and then go into the living > room to announce to him that dinner was ready. And with a mixture of > fear and anticipation, he would say: "So, son, what did you cook for > me today?" > And this is the stuff of which traditions are made. I started this > the very first time I bought lobster for him, so it probably was a > few years before his first stroke. And I told him: "Dad, we're > having something really healthy tonight. It's something new." The > words "food" and "something new" had a genetic, involuntary response > in him: it would furrow his brow. This was because (1) he never > liked to try something new. He liked only tried, true, and tested > dishes he'd ate all his life; and (2) he almost never liked > anything "new" that I made, particularly if it had cilantro in it > which he basically considered a poisonous weed that Mexico had > introduced into American fare in order to reclaim California. > "Dad, tonight we're having tofu chicken, something new that I think > you're just going to love." At this point, his shoulders would droop > in utter disappointment. But, in haste, and in order not to make me > unhappy, he'd bravely pick himself up from the easy chair, put his > smiley face on, and come into the kitchen to get to the table > saying, "well, I'm sure if you made it, it's going to be very > interesting...I'm really looking forward to it." And all the while, > as he's walking towards his place, I'm telling him the virtues of > the soy-bean and even though tofu is basically flavourless, it's > just so good for you, etc. > And then he gets to the table, sees the lobsters (if they were > small, I'd actually get him two or three) sitting there in all their > glory, all prepared and with no work for him to do, and despair > would turn to utter glee. He would physically brighten up and he'd > say: "What's this? Lobster? Son, you shouldn't have. Gee, look at > all the hard work you went to!" And then I'd put his bib on, get him > his 23 cent beer, and he'd go to work, as happy as -- as my mother > would say -- "a pig in shit". > Now, I repeated this whole episode every time I bought him lobster. > And his memory being what it was in his later years, the surprise > factor was still there for about the next 4 or 5 times...but > eventually, whenever I announced "tofu chicken" he finally > understood that to mean lobster. And the way I knew he knew (because > he always played along) was that his shoulders didn't droop when I > said it and his gait into the kitchen was more pronounced than the > I'm-going-to-the-gallows trot I'd come to expect. > But the story isn't over yet. Inevitably, once he had his lobster > and was, simply, satiated and had the facial expression of total > satisfaction, I would get the digestion lecture: how lobsters > naturally improved his elimination and digestion. "Son, my feces are > healthy. They're round and they float." (Dad's theory was that if > your bowel movement floats in the toilet bowl, what you ate the > night before was good for you) > You see, lobsters are health food. > To subscribe, send a message to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Or go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/ and click 'Join This Group!' Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/ <*> Your email settings: Individual Email | Traditional <*> To change settings online go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FairfieldLife/join (Yahoo! ID required) <*> To change settings via email: mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/
