My dad had a way of giving advice or giving out punishment in a very tricky way.He wouldn’t scream,yell or even raise his voice.Sometimes it would have been easier ,to hear him bellow that I messed up. Than to hear “CheriAnn can you see me in the kitchen”.I would creep down the steps and turn the corner,I would see it.A loaf of uncut rye bread and a slab of cream cheese. I was either in trouble,or he saw trouble coming and had advice.
Now if the rye bread was already cut,I would take a deep breath and sigh,I wasn’t in trouble. If it had to be cut and he had the saw-toothed knife,and started cutting bread,I did something that was not good,usually really not good.However I was always grateful whatever the situation was,that my dad was home to handle it.My mothers way,well.i hate the idiot that invented belts. So my dad would always start with, a question and we would go from there. Usually a half of loaf later I usually was crying even if it was good advice. He tried,he tried in his way to keep me off the wrong roads.
The other day I was at the super market and saw in the bakery rye bread,I picked up the already cut loaf,a brick of light cream cheese. And went home, it was late and my daughter was up. I asked her what was wrong,she didn’t answer just kept texting. I called her to the kitchen, “how about some rye bread and cream cheese”.
To my dad how I miss you ….5/11/06