COLUMN: It’s Just a Country State of Mind: Cooking in Dad’s diner

This is yet another story about my father. He made life interesting for me when I was a kid. I hope that you enjoy this one.

When I was young, about 13 years old, my dad had some health issues and had to stay home one summer to recuperate. My mother was working or gone most of the time after he came home and it fell to me to cook his meals. The whole summer after I turned 13, my dad started teaching me to cook!

I sit and laugh when I think about those lessons. I didn’t have a clue how to even boil water. I had lived a happy, carefree existence up until this point. There was no time for cooking. I was out playing or riding my bike. That was the summer that I learned a bit about responsibility.

My first lesson in cooking was learning how to work the gas stove in our kitchen. That first lesson ended with me burning my hair off my arm. Dad settled for cheese and crackers that day. But, while slicing the cheese, I cut myself. Dad looked at me and said, “this is gonna take a while.” They didn’t have meals on wheels back then. No Door Dash to call. It was just me.

He was as patient with me as he could be and I soon mastered spaghetti, grilled cheese, BLTs, egg sandwiches, cinnamon toast… simple things. By the end of that summer, I had learned to cook enough to keep me and him from starving. When I went back to school in the fall, I made his breakfast before I left and made a tray of snacks for his lunch. Then I came home to make dinner. You see my dad was the breadwinner in the family and my mom was working two jobs to make ends meet. So again, it was just me and dad as my older brother was in college and my younger one stayed with my grandparents.

It was a big change in all our lives, but looking back, I realize now how hard it was on him to have lost so much, and he was only in his late 30s. My cooking lessons eventually ended and all my domestic lessons, laundry, cleaning, cooking, reading lessons, memorizing poems, learning to sew a button on a shirt, all came to an end. I had to learn all the rest on my own over the next few years.

My dad and I would never be that close again. But during that time, he was my teacher and cooking instructor. I was a kid. I didn’t understand any of it. But now, I wish I could go back one more time to fix my dad a grilled cheese sandwich. I have perfected the art! I would like to think that I’m a connoisseur of sorts when it comes to grilling cheese sandwiches. After all, I had a great teacher.

I think he would be proud of me! He has been gone quite a while now, but every time I make a grilled cheese sandwich, I think of him. I have not lost my touch when it comes to making grilled cheese.

My dad was a good teacher. I am so glad that I was paying attention. Pay attention to the little things! Those are the moments that make up our lives! And during it all, you just might learn how to make a great grilled cheese sandwich.

Bon appétit!

Susan