copyright 2019 by Pd Michel
Tears filled my eyes as the realization hit me, “My daughter was growing up.” It was the first time she had brought a boy home for dinner. He was a young, lanky teenager who looked unsure of himself. He was enchanted by my daughter Sandy, but then who could resister her charms. She was intelligent, witty, funny, and had her mother’s beauty.
I knew my Sandy was smart enough not to bring home someone who was using drugs, but she was still inexperienced, so I looked him over carefully and determined that he was okay. We lived far enough out of town that cell phone coverage was spotty. The boy tried to contact his mother, but there was no reception. He assured us that his parents had no trouble with him coming home late without calling since there was no school tomorrow, and he had been out with his friends.
My daughter had met him at the park near the woods. He had just finished a basketball game with some friends who had to go. She casually bumped into him and started talking about the game, then she invited him home for dinner. The boy asked her what was for dinner. She answered, “Maybe meatloaf. My mom’s a gourmet cook, but my favorite is meatloaf.”
Mom called Sandy into the kitchen while I gave him a tour around the house, finishing with my Man Cave in the basement. I showed him my old vinyl albums and record player, and the front side of my bar. I smiled and said, “The backside is for adults only.” Then I showed him my big screen TV, and my prized baseball signed by Hank Aaron. The boy saw my hunting rifle in its locked glass cage. He had never been hunting, although he had gone fishing. Last I showed him my meat grinder and sausage maker. He liked that I prepared all the meat myself.
My son got home and started messing with my daughter and her friend. I allowed her to take the boy up to her room so they could get away from her brother. I yelled at them, “Leave the door open.”
Sandy sarcastic yelled down, “Dad! I’m not a kid anymore.”
I replied, “That’s what I am afraid of.”
I smiled as I heard her say, “Parents are all alike.”
An hour later, Mom came out from the kitchen wearing her apron and holding a kitchen knife. She yelled. “It’s dinner time.”
My daughter and the boy were giggling about how hungry they were as they ran down the stairs.
I was so proud of my daughter. Mom gave the knife to her since she had brought home our guest. The rest of us held him down as she made the cut into the artery on his neck. We watched her eyes grow red as she took the well-deserved first drink.
My son showed his canines as he smiled and exclaimed, “Meatloaf tomorrow!”