Tag: steak

“Don’t forget to bring a sport coat.”

“Okay. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

I decided to wear my navy blazer on the plane rather than packing it. I knew that I would one day be making this trip up to dad’s. It was time to move him out of the house he had lived in for the last forty-eight years.

How do you do that? How do you convince your ninety-year-old father that he can’t take care of the house all by himself? How do you say he shouldn’t be living alone? How do you get him to agree to moving in with my brother’s family? My dad was never disagreeable to the idea. But every time we brought it up, he said it would happen “someday,” “later,” or “soon.” Just not right now.

But when my brother went up to visit dad, he could see it was time. Dad hadn’t shaved for a week. Dad, who went to the barber every two weeks, hadn’t been in months. He wasn’t eating the meals stored up for him in the freezer. The lawn needed cutting. Dust-covered surfaces insisted, “Clean me!” It was time.

We put it on his calendar. Months before, we highlighted Saturday, November 9 on the refrigerator calendar. We wrote “Moving day” in the big, bold letters. For my dad, the calendar was reality. It announced birthdays, appointments, and holidays. And moving day. If he questioned us (my brother, sister, or I), we simply showed him, “It’s on the calendar, dad,” and the discussion was over.

The night before we loaded up a rental truck to move his belongings, we gathered for supper at Aronimink Country Club in Newtown Square, just outside of Philadelphia. My cousin Jack the lawyer was a member there and invited our family for a last meal together where my dad had lived his entire life. My brother, sister, and I were joined by Jack’s wife, Rita, and Jack’s youngest sister Rene with her husband Bill. We hadn’t gathered with this part of our extended family since my mom’s funeral eight years before.

Aronimink is an exclusive club. Membership is by invitation only. Men are required to wear a sport coat in the dining room. No cell phones allowed. No photography, either, so I have no snapshots of that evening.

It is by far the nicest place I’ve ever dined at. The valet parked my sister’s car. As we walked in, we were expected and warmly welcomed. A fire blazed in the hearth as we found our seats around a large round table. When a waiter puts the napkin in your lap, you know you’re in a fancy place. The menus were printed for that night only. No prices were printed on the menu, just choices for appetizers, entrees, sides, and dessert.

The selections included the usual beef, fowl, pork, and vegetarian options. We could choose shrimp, bruschetta, mushrooms, or cheese for appetizers. Sides were seasonal vegetables and potatoes. The desserts included cheesecake, mousse, and ice cream.

I had a medium-rare sirloin steak and a Guinness that night. According to my journal, it was the first red meat I had eaten in a while. My dad ordered a 20 ounce porterhouse steak. That is a big piece of beef, especially on top of a salad and baked potato. He enjoyed every bite but didn’t even finish half the meal. Put the rest in a take-home box? No one was brave enough to ask.

My dad was the youngest of seven children, the only one still living on this day. He was the patriarch of the family and commanded respect. My cousin Rene remembered how she always thought her Uncle Bill was so cool, with a young wife (mom was ten years younger than him) and a great car (a light blue 1956 Mercury Montclair). After this night and this move, I would have minimal family connection to what I call my hometown, Philadelphia.

Dad would never return to this house, just a half mile from where he was born. My brother gave away his car, so he would no longer be driving. Dad didn’t mind, as long as he had a set of keys. He would be leaving the church where he worshiped and served for nearly fifty years. Dad didn’t mind, because he would go to the church my brother pastored. Dad left behind a big flower and vegetable gardens, a basement woodworking shop filled with tools and hardware, and the area he had called home for ninety years. He didn’t mind, since his interest in those pursuits had waned in the past few years.

For the move, we took Dad’s bed, dresser, desk, television, and favorite recliner. His world shrank to a room with a few pieces of furniture. My brother’s home had a suite where the garage used to be. Dad would have a new place of his own, without a two-story house, quarter-acre yard to take care of, and long driveway to blow snow off in the winter.

This would be the beginning of a new chapter in Dad’s life. It would be a significant change for all of us children. How many times did we go “home” from college or for holiday celebrations? I still tell people I’m grew up in Philadelphia. I still root for the Phillies, Eagles, Flyers, and Sixers. When I see Tastykakes in the stores, “Philly” cheesesteaks on menus, and order a soft pretzel at a brewery, I think of home and dad.

After a few years at my brother’s house, we had to move dad into assisted living, where for three years he would be well cared for. When I went to visit him, he showed me a handwritten account of all the islands and atolls he had been to in the south Pacific during World War two. My dad’s life had taken him from the other side of the globe to a small room in northern Virginia.

That last supper was a good one, a vivid memory from ten years ago.