Home for Dinner

Home for Dinner

[Photo: Pap in his truck. Inset: Jennifer and Uncle Bob]

A few months ago, I introduced you to my grandfather, Pap who owned a trucking company and who showed me that the rules of the road were often good rules for life. I recently spent some time with his brother, my Uncle Bob who worked with Pap. One of the things I learned was that Uncle Bob drove 6 million miles accident-free. Think about that. Years and years of driving without an accident. Amazing!

 

We swapped a lot of stories that afternoon, filled with tears and laughter. I had the pleasure of sharing a Thanksgiving story with Uncle Bob that he hadn’t heard before. A tale of turkey, blackberry brandy and family fun.

 

One of the meals Pap liked to cook when he was home was Turkey and Waffles. He would slow cook leftover turkey and gravy in a crock-pot and gather his large family of 5 children, their spouses and their kids for games, fun and food. The waffles were always freshly baked in the waffle iron, so the kitchen turned into a well-oiled assembly line.

—  Pour batter on the red-hot iron
—  Grab a plate
—  Pop out hot-off-the-iron waffle
—  Ladle full of turkey and gravy
—  Spoon full of veggies
—  Mixed drink station (drinks of both soft and hard varieties)
—  Repeat.

Notice – there is no room in the assembly line for an adorable 4-year-old grandchild asking to help. But there I was…

—  Pour batter on the red-hot iron
        Pulling at the belt-loops of my very busy grandfather.
  —  Plate

        “Pap!”
  —  Hot-off-the-iron waffle

        “I can help?”
  —  Ladle full of turkey and gravy

        “Let me carry that.”
  —  Spoon full of veggies

        “Pappy – I’m thirsty.”
  —  Mixed drink station (drinks of both soft and hard varieties)

        Pap: “Here.”

Without missing a beat – and without looking – he deftly hands his only granddaughter a bottle to get her out of the kitchen; away from the flying plates and dangerous hot irons and the hungry relatives; give her a sense of purpose.

 

Not long after that I handed that bottle to my mom. “This is sweet and tastes funny.”  She chuckled as she asked how much I had drunk. It could not have been too much – at four years old I not (yet) acquired the taste for blackberry brandy.

 

Please note, my grandfather was horrified at his innocent mistake of giving me my first bottle of alcohol. He didn’t know what he had done until my mom explained why I was asleep on the sofa after dinner instead of my normal state of buzzing around the dining room table looking at everyone’s Uno hand.

 

Ya see, Pap loved his time on the road, but he spent that time behind the wheel so that his family time was even sweeter.

 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

 

 

Author: Jennifer Clymer

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