Family get-togethers at my house are always a little bit strange. For one thing, these events usually revolve around some kind of task or situation that requires the expertise of my father. Last weekend was a prime example. Saturday afternoon my father and brother arrived hungry. While my father crawled under my truck to inspect the leaking brake line, I heat up the grill, place plates and utensils on the patio table, and start covering the watermelon with ice. After serving everyone bratwursts, lots of tomatoes, and sauerkraut, I light the citronella candles and settled down to eat. The next morning, my dad and brother arrived early, and they were hungry again. I organized the table, usher them to their seats, and start breakfast. A dozen eggs, pieces of bacon, and some bread later, my male relatives were ready to attack the leaky brakes of my Dodge Dakota.

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