Over twenty years ago, my dad took an oath to this country and swore to protect it against all enemies both foreign and domestic. Throughout the majority of his tenure with the military, the United States faced relatively few explicit threats and did not need to worry about unseen threats because the threats were across the ocean and out of our hair. The lack of threats made his position as a reserve officer relatively undemanding, only consisting of one weekend a month and a few weeks during the summer. My dad lived a life considered to be a normal civilian one, one that allowed him to spend time with his family, letting him be the above average family man that he wanted to be. On September 11th, 2001, this ideal living drastically transformed for my father, and essentially changed how my family would operate.
To reach the nearest military base that my father ever worked at, it required a cramped, three hour car ride through uneven, mountainous highways, removing any chance of comfort for either I or my two sisters. The luckiest one of us would reach the back seat of my mom’s van first. The seat created the opportunity to lounge out and catch a couple minutes of rest and relaxation before being jarred awake by a sharp turn or a sudden change in elevation. To make it anywhere else the military stationed my dad required long waits in queues, stripping down to little more than my birthday suit, and possible delays due to the most inventive excuse the airline could come up with that day. Then too soon after my ordeals, I would have to say my goodbyes to my dad.
The only guaranteed extended time that my family could be whole again came in the Christmas holiday seasons. My dad stored up his yearly allowance of leave, making sure he always had enough to stay for a week or two. His visits were joyous surprises. Even though I always knew he was coming home, I was never told when. I only found out his about his visits by putting my sleuthing skills to the test and watching for certain foods and ingredients that my mother stockpiled in my refrigerator and pantry.
Sausage balls are one of my dad’s favorite holiday treats. A hodgepodge, Frankenstein mixture of shredded cheese, ground sausage, and the ever useful Bisquik, sausage balls turn out to be a tasty concoction that is even more convenient than a sandwich. Bisquik was a constant fixture in my kitchen pantry; however, the other needed items did not. The simultaneous addition of cheese and sausage to my fridge became the clues alerting me to my mom’s plans to make sausage balls for my dad to enjoy and that my dad would arrive home soon. On the early Saturday mornings that my mom called me to the kitchen to get out the ingredients and big plastic mixing bowl, a sense of excitement and nervousness buried itself deep in my stomach. My mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. Will my dad be any different? Will he be happy to be back home? Will everything be up to his standards? Will he like what I was making him? None of this mattered. My dad only cared that he saw his family. And truly all I cared about was that I saw him. The sausage balls were just a bonus.
The other item that tipped me off to my dad’s homecoming was the oxymoronic fresh frozen turkey sitting in our fridge thawing, readying itself to meet its demise. My dad jumped on the deep fried turkey bandwagon early. And after our first taste of the crispy poultry, the rest of my family was hooked too. We demanded the turkey’s presence at every holiday family function. But with the danger of frying a turkey, my dad was the only person with enough hair on his chest to bold the dangers of hot oil spills, fire flare-ups, and the whipping cold winds that came with the season. Early Christmas morning, after the turkey had thawed, my dad, armed with a syringe and the mindset of a mad scientist, injected marinade into the turkey, making sure each year’s turkey was better than the last. I saw at the bar across the counter from him. And we just talked, about life, about food, about anything. Over that turkey, minutes became hours, the meaningless became deep. Everything took on a more significant value when being discussed around those 12 pounds, regardless of what it may have been. The bird made it seem that we were never apart and we realized that the only time that mattered was the present.
As you can see, gas fryers provide a little more excitement, but the end justifies the means!
Years later, I wonder why my parents never told me of my dad’s travel plans. Why did they leave me to my own devices to figure out when I could return my interim title of man of the house? I can only come to the conclusion they wanted my dad’s visits to be a more special occasion even though the visits are somewhat of a surprise you can only attempt to hide.
Every Christmas, my family still attempts to get together as best as possible. Yet with all of our demanding lives, we rarely have the chance to celebrate how we once did, leaving my parents to drift from child to child as available. I have come to miss being able to have my family whole. I have come to miss making sausage balls for my dad’s return with my mom. I have come to miss watching my dad injecting the bird with the tastiest of medicines. I have come to miss the meaning of these foods to me. But the one thing that has not left me is the excitement and nervousness of my dad, now along with my mom, walking through my door, my mind still racing with some old thoughts that I had when I was a kid along with some new thoughts that I must face. Will my parents think I am successful? None of this matters. My parents only care that they see their kid. And I only care that I see them.
Photo courtesy of: Neeses Sausage
http://www.neesessausage.com/sausage_balls.php
Video courtesy of: Youtube
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NA71ZEmOQko
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