My FB friend Brian, vented last night after his wife told
him that she had made a special recipe for dinner, one from
his own dear Mother's cookbook. One that
his wonderful wife didn't know that he absolutely hated...the
dreaded Tuna casserole.
I had to reply:
Yes Brian, My mother made tuna casserole too...and
yes, I hated it. But in a particularly diabolical act one
night she brought home chocolate eclairs for dessert. Early on,
my Mother was something of a health nut, before such people were out of the closet.
We never, I mean never, had dessert or sweets or Cokes, etc. Except for Dad who
lived on Cokes, Camels, and stress from his law practice in Manhattan. But
the rules didn't apply to him, he was the breadwinner (or Coke and Camels
winner) So anyway, I guess Mom had been discouraged by the reaction of my
sibs and myself to her “Tuna Surprise” night. The only potential
surprise would have been if any of us had eaten that nasty
stuff. But we didn't. And then, that one emotionally scarring
night, the eclairs showed up.
Hello! Naturally the caveat was that we had to
“clean our plates” before we could dig into the eclairs that
spun slowly on our Lazy Susan whenever anyone passed the salt and
pepper. They taunted me on that carousel, put thumb to nose and gave me the
raspberries. Like a stuck-up hottie, they let me know that I would never get my
lecherous hands on them. And they were right. Mom stayed vigilant to be sure
that that none of us was going to slip tuna surprise to our fat Beagle under
the dining room table. Dad just smoked, sipped his Cokes and could care less if
we ate the tuna, the eclairs, or the candles. At dinner, it was Mom's world.
And dammit, she won. I ate no tuna and no eclairs that night. Maybe that's why
now that I'm even older than my father was then, I'll occasionally buy a four
pack of fresh eclairs and eat them all in a disgusting frenzy before I even get
out of the Publix parking lot. All I know is that way back then when
I checked the frig for eclairs the next morning, they were gone, and dad looked
just a little bit fatter and happier as he sat with us at the breakfast table,
sipping coffee, and burning a Camel between two nicotine stained
fingers. Wearing his pinstriped suit of armor with a matching
tie, he was braced and ready for the commute into the city
to fight the dragons and earn Mom's favor. He was well
prepared. After all, he was supercharged on Cokes, Camels,
and a six-pack of eclairs, at least one of which was supposed to
have been mine.
