He also made it a mission to call every night at dinnertime just to see what we were having for dinner. Not because he wanted to know, but because he knew we were eating and he was disrupting it.
That was great fun to him, causing me to get up from the table. He did this up to the day he died. It is one of the things that I still expect to happen at dinner.
Dad’s fear of being a flunky was not warranted.
Here is how the conversation would go and always just as I was about to take my first bite of food:
Me: “Hi, Dad.” (Because I knew it was him)
Dad: “What are you having for dinner?”
Me: “Roast and mashed potatoes.”
Dad: “Cream gravy or brown gravy?”
Me: “Brown, Dad. Why does it matter?”
Dad: “Just wanted to see if you were smart enough to fix brown gravy with a roast.”
Me: “Of course, Dad, there are no pan giblets to make cream gravy with a roast.”
Dad: “OK then.” (Click. He would hang up.)
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