It doesn't matter what he served me. He could serve cow turd and I'd eat it. In fact, it didn't matter in the slightest what he served because my dad BBQ'd it. And it wasn't until tonight when I realized what that really meant.

Dad's BBQ was a major event in my house. Nobody ever fought or was hit or screamed at or punished while Dad BBQ'd. The whole family was on their best behavior when Dad BBQ'd and it was like Sunday service for our family. My Dad's BBQ brought the family together. Everyone helped set the table, everyone oohed and ahh-ed as the dinner came together to be a glorious feast.

When my Dad BBQ'd, it was the only time I felt like we were a normal, happy family and the only time I ever felt happy in that house was when Dad BBQ'd.