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.
