I know where I’d like to be this Sunday. Back home in N’Awlins, sweating in the backyard, waiting for my daddy to pass around his spicy barbecued crawfish sausage. You never tasted anything so good.
And that’s just the appetizer for our typical Father’s Day feast. Next come hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken wings, veggies and corn on the cob—all hot from Daddy’s big gas grill.
The kids (well, all six of us are adults, but get us together and we immediately regress) sit around teasing one another and telling embarrassing stories, while Mama plays in the sprinkler with the even-dozen grandkids. That leaves Daddy to do all the work! Not that he’d call it work. For Daddy, cooking equals love. And for me, Daddy equals The Best One Ever.
