My oldest daughter called last night several times to discuss her health. She was not well due to a sore throat, pink eye and an assortment of maladies, and needed Mom to help her through this. As well, even I got into the act a bit, but I’m usually only brought in on matters needing money so I added what to do if you need money. She is in Montreal, and seldom communicates with me (except money issues) but does need her Mom from time to time.
This all reminded me of the last time one of my sons needed help. Sons, it seems, at least in my house, went to Dad.
It was Thanksgiving Day, in 1988 or 89, and my middle son called in at 10:00 a.m. in the morning. He was living in an apartment in Chicago at the time. “Dad, how do you make a turkey?”
It was a bit late to be asking such a question, but Dad was the cook and the one to ask, and even their Mother would have been fine with this one as I had almost always cooked the turkey.
“Do you have people coming for dinner?” I asked and of course there was a dinner party planned.
I gave him a simple, step by step method for coking the bird, trying to explain the great easiness with which this can be done.
“Did you buy a fresh turkey”, I asked, “or was it a frozen one?” “Frozen” was the reply.
“When did it thaw?” I asked.
“Thaw?”
I suggested he see if McDonalds was open and he could carry out burgers and fries.
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