My dad and I have something in common when it comes to cooking. We can make a few things, and we're willing to try, but the results aren't always great. One Thanksgiving, Dad gave us a story we ended up telling for years.
It was 1989, and he announced that he was going to make the stuffing from scratch. Mom was happy to have one less thing to do, so she told him to have at it.
Thanksgiving morning, Dad got a couple of bags of Wonder Bread, tore it all up, and put it in our big Tupperware bowl. Then he poured water on it. No seasoning. Just bread and water, into the oven.
When he brought it to the table, my Aunt Irene tried to stick a spoon in it. The spoon didn't go very far. She finally managed to pop out a chunk, and it was basically cement.
That was the year the Berlin Wall came down, and Aunt Irene said, "Gee, Bob, they tore the Berlin Wall down this year. I think I just found it."
Oh, the look he gave her. I felt bad for Dad because he'd really tried, but Mom kept that story going for years.
The other night, my wife, Heidi, asked what we should serve for Thanksgiving. Her parents are coming from Pennsylvania, and they're a little particular about their sides. The first thing out of my mouth was, "The Berlin Wall."
She said, "Wait, what?" And as I explained it, I started tearing up.
Dad passed away three years after that Thanksgiving. Mom's in memory care now, and she doesn't remember the stuffing or Aunt Irene's comment anymore. But I remember, and I wasn't expecting a conversation about Thanksgiving dinner to bring all of that back.
If this time of year brings up family memories that make you laugh and cry in the same conversation, you're not alone. I think of Philippians 1:3: "Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God."
I'm thankful for Dad. And I'm glad he gave that stuffing a try.