LAST CONVERSATION UNTIL NEXT YEAR

One last conversation before Father’s Day, 2023.

If you have adult kids, it helps to talk to them.

Based on the inspiration from one of my favorite twitter follows, it’s important.

Do your kids know you better than you know your own parents?

The bigger question: Do you want them to know who you really are?

From my perch in life, I say yes. The more they know, you included, the better off you both are.

Yesterday was the time for all good fathers to let their kids know more about them.

Father’s Day is either a welcome time to lay down your burden, or worry about saying too much.

Since I’m a blogger who says too much every day, I’m not too worried.

In addition, my parental burden isn’t so heavy I need to park it once a year.

A little background before one last conversation with the grown kids.

The Day Before Father’s Day

My nieces stopped by on their way through town and stayed for dinner.

Since they are winners, I made a chicken dinner.

“We ordinarily try to round up everyone for a family dinner, but tonight we wanted you all to ourselves.”

Selfish parenting? Selfish uncle? Probably, but like my twitter pal, I wanted them to know more about my wife and I.

What did they learn that they didn’t know? They know I whip up a flattened chicken, broccoli, and potatoes dinner and make it look easy.

I’m a man who finds cooking fun, mostly because of my wife.

She was raised in a household with an English mum who went to college and earned a degree in domestic science. It’s what it sounds like.

My mother in-law could do everything. Growing up in England already put mummy over the top in manners and traditions and customs.

Food Travel?

If you tried to find a dinner she cooked in a restaurant you’d have to go to England.

That she was also academically trained in the domestic sciences put her in a category all by herself in our world.

I got a close up tutorial of her skills when she and I teamed up to take care of her husband who’d come down with Parkinson’s Disease. She was a trooper.

Her WWII service as a signaler in the English Navy could have influenced her cleanliness and neatness, but I think she was born that way.

Her daughter took up the domestic challenges like a pro and I learned more about myself than I needed to know.

We are a couple who cooks together. She’s a whirlwind. I’m stickin’ with the chicken.

Father’s Day Last Conversation

The day began with a visit from my younger son who came over while his wife-to-be slept in.

She’s a labor and deliver nurse on the the overnight shift.

What did my kid learn? We started off with a weight lifting session.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“This makes it better. I think I jarred my back from too much barefoot walking on hard sand beaches.”

“It’s not the new hip?”

“No, it’s a different pain. But it’s not too bad.”

We pumped out five sets on the bench with extra lifts during active rest.

“I brought extra beer for later when your second favorite son is here.”

“Good timing. Let’s have one now and take the dog out for a spin.”

Five blocks from my house a country family bought property and recreated the ranch they’d left.

Chickens and goats and llamas were in the corral with a miniature horse named Frosty.

The horse got a nip in while I fed it a carrot

After we finished the carrots we took a forest walk with the dog.

What’s follows lifting, dog walking, and beer?

A sauna, another beer, and filling up a big Traeger grill with marinated chicken thighs.

“I want you to take some home.”

“Isn’t it better just off the grill?

“Yes, so raw chicken for you. Or, I’ll come to your place on Tuesday night and we can put your weight rack together and cook that chicken.”

“That’s a plan.”

Shortly after he left, his big brother drove up to jam along with the rest of the band. Yesterday it was a power trio of guitar, bass, and drums.

But first we wolfed down chicken thighs like we were starving. (It’s that good. Sometimes.)

While we got after it, my daughter in-law and granddaughter kept time with my wife.

We played, wrapped up, and I walked my kid out to his car to end the night after everyone else left and he said goodnight to momma.

“Son, What Happened To You?“

I’ve asked the question before. I’ll ask it again. It could be a last conversation, but it never is.

This is a man in his early thirties, married with a kid of his own, and a job with a future.

He’s never complained about being canceled, left out, forgotten, or replaced.

“What would it take for you to march in a protest against anything going on now?”

“Like what?”

“The usual injustices, gun control, the insurrection, equal rights, pro-choice. That stuff.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Me, too. All things considered, I don’t know if I could take a beat down, getting gassed, and tased.”

“Or shot.”

“Yes, or shot.”

“It’s different with a wife and kids. I’ve got to think of them first.”

“What makes you different than the people who stormed the Capitol?”

“That’s not a group I’d want to join. You saw them. What makes you different?”

“As the only veteran among my brothers and sister, I know what a direct order is. I’d never follow a presidential order given at a televised instigation. That’s not how it works.”

“Me neither.”

“You’d be a handful on either side.”

“There are not two sides I can see.”

What Makes A Last Conversation?

Narrow mindedness.

Prejudice.

Bigotry.

Control.

Ignorance.

Misinformation.

Disinformation.

As a father on Father’s Day I can’t imagine a last conversation with my wife and kids.

From the way things are set up, they’ll be talking to my urn after I’m gone.

My sons will know who the hell I was.

I call it a gift.

They can call it whatever they want.

PS:

Make plans for the future before ending a visit with people you care about.

That’s the temporarily last conversation to have.