This morning my dad e-mailed me saying that he was impressed with the way I can write about cooking, and that there might be hope for him yet. Today, I will deal with the second part of his comments, about his inability to cook.
My dad is a wonderful man, but he is not good at cooking. Before my parents were married, my dad was single for many years. Although he is alleged to have dated other women, since he even recoils at the notion that he dated my mom (they have been happily married for many years), none of these women took it upon themselves to teach him how to cook. This seems wise. One of his friends, however, did. She apparently taught him how to make hamburgers on the weekend, then eat them every day for dinner. With boiled potatoes, and frozen peas thrown in at the last minute. The only way that I could withstand this type of supper would be if I had enough people from church inviting me over for some variety. I think people did do that; but sometimes my dad turned them down.
Ultimately, I am thankful that my dad taught me how to hammer nails, that part of making a home is opening it up to others (this may have more to do with my mom, come to think of it) and that spending time alone working is an excellent way to pass a day, and not how to make supper.