My Dad and Me

Me and Dad in Paris

One day about a year ago, I said something sassy--not to anyone in particular. It was just a smart-aleck comment. My father looked at me and asked me where I got such an attitude. I smiled and said from him, of course. He laughed and shook his head realizing I was more like him than he had realized. Most of the time, my sassy side only comes out to the patients. You have to be there to get it. The EMTs and I play off of each other, and we are known for making the patients laugh and relax and forget they are in the office for their heart. I credit my dad so much with making me the successful person that I am.

The first time my folks left the kitchen to me, my mom had gone home to Louisiana to stay with my grandmother, and I had made a list of some great ideas I wanted to try in the kitchen between my classes and homework. My dad came home to a spinach alfredo pizza--I think. All I remember was the store-bought crust and the store-bought alfredo. Both of which were horrible. At the end of the meal, my dad looked at me and said, "I hope you've learned your lesson." Now, maybe he was talking about something I told him happened to me that day, but it stuck in my head as having to do with my efforts in the kitchen due to the fact that the pizza was a total flop.

A good number of years down the road, just a few months ago in fact, my father sat at my kitchen table while my mother was back in Louisiana with my grandmother and pronounced my asparagus and tortellini delish, even taking the leftovers to work the following day. That was the best compliment he could have given me. Together, we have proven that sometimes good cooks aren't born, they are made. I'm sorry he had to be my guinea pig during those early days of learning how to turn on a stove, but I hope it's been worth it for his sake.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! I love you so much. We're taking you out for brunch, but Mom and I will cook dinner together. . .just in case.