On Father’s Day I grilled chicken for supper – that’s what we called the evening meal where I grew up. The noon meal was dinner. If we ever tried to call our evening meal “dinner,” Dad would say we were getting too fancy.
Anyway, I basted the chicken with melted butter that had beer mixed in with it … just the way my dad used to grill chicken. I basted it and turned it. Basted it and turned it. Basted it and turned it. Only to be disappointed. They didn’t taste nearly as good as Dad’s chicken. It was missing that one special ingredient. It was missing Dad.
I finally have a blog and can tell the world that 21 years later, I still miss you. All of the time.
P.S. Mom, if you’re reading this … you can come clean with me. Did YOU add any special ingredients into the baste mix that I don’t know about?
Do you have a loving comment to leave about your father? Feel free. We’d love to read it.