My father was a chemical engineer who specialized in coatings of industrial buildings. It was an offshoot industry from the steel mills. As I learned even up until recently my father was respected wherever he went.
He belonged to the Pittsburgh chapter of the American Society of Paint Technology. They had a meeting, with dinner, every other Thursday night. It was no surprise that he was quickly elected president. With this honor he was given a gavel which he used to call the meetings to order. This gavel, made of real wood, had a gold band around it. The gavel had a special place in our house; it sat on a shelf, all by itself, UP WHERE LITTLE HANDS COULD NOT REACH IT. My sister and I liked to look at this beautiful object and think about finding some way to stand on a chair and get hold of it. But just thinking about the possible outcomes made us turn cold with fear and we never even tried.
On those Thursday nights my grandmother came for dinner. I hate to say this because it sounds as if we didn’t love our father; however, he was a very strict father, pretty much removed from the female and child world. His demands of us at the dinner table were pretty difficult for us, as young children, to follow. So when he was away we always had a great time–me, my sister, our grandmother, and our mother.
The atmosphere was funny and care-free. Also my father didn’t like fish so when he wasn’t there we had either crab cakes or my mother would make salami and eggs, another dish he did not like at dinner time.
This was a delicate situation for me. I loved my father but at the same time I was very sensitive to the change in mood when he wasn’t around, watching us. My mother was different, more relaxed. My father did not allow a lot of laughing at the dinner table. In a way he was like the old Victorians who said that “children should be seen and not heard.” Of course I had periods of time when I was sure he didn’t love me and I tried to figure out why. But this story has a happy ending; very happy indeed.
lgmwriting 