All Fucked Up
2002-02-06 07:48:52 (UTC)

More Ovaltine, Please

He stumbled into the door, eyes as brilliant as a smoky
gray countryside. "Eaten yet?" he gently asked in that semi-
nasal quality tone of his. "Naw", was the mechanical
reply. "I'll fix something up. Want anything special?"
Rashly, as if by routine, I shouted, "Peanut butter jelly
sandwiches and ovaltine so I can dunk it into!!" It had
been a favorite since childhood. On top of this, dad cooked
up a storm of spaghetti, stir fry and a huge cesar
salad. "Let's grub", he announced, humbly placing his
culinary arts onto the sleek mahogany table

Early evening dinners w/dad in wintertime California aren't
to be surpassed by anything. They involve shouting
gleefully at one another across the table while competing
to be heard by the other, singing Beatle tunes in unison,
throwing food at one another w/as much abandon of
traditional morals as the mind can construe. They involve
tapping your feet barefooted in tune to Penny Lane as the
daily Beatle's Hour blares over K-EARTH 101 while playing
drums w/stainless steel spoons upon the hardened table who
perhaps lightens up a bit by seeing a grown man in shorts
and his grown daughter acting so childishly

Believe me when I say that early evening dinners in
wintertime California w/dad aren't to be surpassed by any
human emotion. But just when everything is at it's peak,
there comes that time when you look at dad w/a solemn look
and say, "More ovaltine, please"