Today would be my father’s birthday. My first memory of him is when he came home to West Virginia from an overseas military assignment. I was five and had no recollection of his face, so I kept running to the parlor to look at his picture until he arrived. When I was growing up, it became his tradition to cook Sunday dinner for my mother and me. Dessert was pineapple upside down cake made in a cast iron skillet. My mother told me when I was born, he brought a pineapple upside down cake instead of flowers to the hospital.