Okay, I fully realize that is a weird title. But it’s actually more innocent than it appears to be.
I’ve never been one of those people who thinks that parents shouldn’t have sex. I know that my mom is first a woman, then a mom. And while I was young when my dad died, as I grew up I realized that he and mom must have had sex in order for my sister and I to exist–and that never grossed me out. I guess stuff like that just isn’t icky to me.
So, as I’m putting the finishing touches on the new cookbook (due out at the end of October–woo hoo!) my mom brings over a family recipe book for me to nab a few of her best recipes. In the little book was a note from my dad that is at least 32 years old. I totally believe in saving every love note I’ve ever received and apparently my mom believes the same. I’m glad she’s like that because it’s precious to me being able to see my daddy’s handwriting.
Then, I read the note.
My mom giggled and said, “Oh, that’s from your father.”
Ummm…Dad’s name was Buck. Or formally, Charles William. But never George.
My mom said, with a coquettish grin, “…ummm…well…part of him was named George.”
It took me a moment, then I busted out laughing. My dad wrote my mom love notes and signed them with the name of his man-part. Good Lord have mercy!!
I absolutely love that he did that. I love that my mom saved it all these years. And I love that I was able to see it. Bearing witness to his sweetness, love (and perviness) over 3 decades after his passing helps make him real to me again.
Love you Daddy!