Memphis, Age 5
The family was ready for dinner. Nazy had cooked a large tuna casserole which she handed to me across the divider between the kitchen and the dining area.
Let the record show: The casserole dish, a Pyrex container had just come from the oven. Nazy was holding it with a hot pad. She handed it to me and I was using my bare hands.
As I gingerly moved the casserole from the kitchen to the table, I couldn’t help but be aware of the smell of burning flesh that overpowered the savory smell of tuna casserole. Finally surrendering to the pain…
Let the record show: surrendering to the excruciating pain…
… I dropped the casserole dish on the table. The dish shattered, the tuna exploded. Melika and Darius laughed. Nazy, for some reason, didn’t think it was funny. I was picking tuna out of my beard with my fork – a task that was not easy given the pain. Then:
“If you used two hands, Daddy,” Mitra said, “that wouldn’t happen.”
About 20 minutes later the family reassembled at the table. Nazy had constructed the back up dinner which she (bravely) handed to me to place on the table. I accomplished this task flawlessly. Melika and Darius clapped. Then:
“Thank you, Daddy. That was much better,” Mitra said.
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