And I set to work making mac-n-cheese. I even put real cheese in there too, just to kick it up a notch. BAM! When it was done, I got very distracted by these two magnets on the fridge. I picked them up and tried to force them together, but they just.... wouldn’t.... touch. No matter how hard I pushed! I wondered vaguely whether that would later turn out to be symbolic of any of my own personal relationships.
Dad had two bites of his macaroni and cheese and looked up in wonder at me.
“What do you call this, Stels”, he asked, mouth agape in complete fascination.
As much as Dad was a simple small town man, I couldn’t help but love him for his desperate naïve innocence.
“It’s called macaroni and cheese, Dad. Some people think ‘pasta’ was of Italian origin, but many argue it was the Asians who originated it.”
“You mean like Chinese people?”, asked the Colonel, dropping his fork and pushing his plate back with trembling hands.
“Yes, Dad, Chinese people are Asian.”
“PAH! You know how it works, Stella! First pasghettiti, then public pools, and then pretty soon they’re takin’ our goddammed guns!”
“Dad, let me remind you every Asian is not some annoying, affeminate socially awkward nerd on the school paper . “ God, he got he got all his information from movies.