The Training

When I was little my Dad didn’t want me to be squeamish, like some of the men he served with in WWII. He especially didn’t want me to be upset when I was eating by somebody saying something, so the training started when I was very young. He told many stories about his army buddies in the mess hall and how they delighted in making someone ill by telling some terrible tale of terror. If they could make someone get up and leave their food, it made their day. He was always preparing me to be tough in the face of anything that came along.

I’m sure the training started here

I can remember when I was very young pushing my plate toward him and asking him to cut my meat. He would take out his old jackknife and start to cut the meat. Suddenly when he was about done he would stop and look at the jackknife and say,

Then when we would eat sardines and crackers out of the little tins he would say,

Of course my mother, bless her heart, would yell at him.

Ma was always trying

Guess you were right Ma.. But not a helluva lot of anything you say when I’m eating bothers me.. Thanks, Pa..

Guess I listened…