Thanks, I appreciate the kind words...I haven't thought of submitting it but, hey, it's written anyways, so maybe I'll clean it up a bit and give it a shot.
--- In [email protected], "authfriend" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > 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" <shempmcgurk@> > 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/
