Father to Son

I am slightly embarrassed to admit I do not know how to grill a steak. As fond as I am of hop-scotching across boundaries, the gender divide of "women in the kitchen, men at the grill" persists in my family. My lack of BBQ chops comes up for two reasons:

1) 4th of July weekend is prime grillin' time, and I want to throw some meat on a fire!

2) A co-worker just handed me a book called "Father to Son: Life Lessons on Raising a Boy." One of the one-liner lessons is, "Teach him how to barbecue a steak. This is a right of passage."

While my dad missed the boat on this one, he hit quite a few of the Father to Son lessons. One, in particular, stood out to me, “Teach him the wonder of staring at the moon.”

In fourth and fifth grade my dad couched my AYSO soccer team. We won the championship both years. He taught me a couple of things over the course of those seasons:

1)     1) The honor and rarity of being a champion.

2     2) How to blow a snot rocket.

3)       3) The best offense is a good defense.

4)     4)  If you’re not the fastest, you better be the smartest.

One night in the fall, practice was coming to a close. He gathered all the girls into a huddle and told us to look up at the moon. To this day, I’ve never seen a more glorious moon. He told us about the coyotes in the San Gabriel Mountains just to the north of us- he told us of their tenacity and stealth. Then, much to our surprise, he had us howl at the moon. For a good three minutes or so, 20 nine year old girls stood in a pack on a field howling at the moon. I will never forget that.

My father would have raised a good son, but instead he raised a great daughter. And sure, I can't grill a steak (yet!) but that's what this weekend is for. On Monday, as the men in my family gather around the grill and prepare to do their manly duty, I'll saunter up in my sweetest sundress and ask for a lesson.