Next week marks the 2nd anniversary of my father’s death. It’s truly amazing how time can move so slowly with some things and so very fast with others all culminating over the same time frame. This year I’m trying very hard not to think about all of the hurt that still creeps in on family events, or the sudden realization of loss when trying to do some mundane task. I want to try and work through some of this and be in a happy place as I think about him. My dad could be a mean SOB when I was growing up, I’m the product of 2 failed marriages and one happy one, I have 2 older step-sisters that had either moved out before my parents got together or lived with their mother, so by the time I came into the picture my dad wasn’t really up to raising another snotty kid or teenager. For a time it made things very hard for my mother and I, but when I moved out on my own and starting having children things slowly changed between my father and I. Sunday dinner – a mainstay at my mothers house for many years, found me in the kitchen talking with my dad and learning about some technique for cooking our meal. He would show me how to use a certain knife, or explain why it’s so very important not to use soap on your cast iron. He would offer out new ideas and food to expand my idea of what home cooking and really good cooking could be. Some mornings I would stop by on my way to work unexpectedly and he would get up from his crossword puzzle to make me a breakfast he deemed fit for me, instead of the coffee and snack bar I had shoveled down before I left my own house. It’s funny they always had eggs, cheese and some sort of bread to make an omelet and toast no matter what was going on with them in their daily lives. Many have told me I have my twisted and dark sense of humor from him, both of us found Fargo to be a hugely funny movie. And one of the best compliments I’ve ever received came from my dad a few years ago after cooking a birthday dinner for my mother. “You know Sarah, I really don’t like coming to your house to eat, it seems I’m eating the same food I cook at home”. A culinary feat for me since I had worked hard, from the time I got my first set of pots and pans, to mimic the taste and texture of some of my dads favorite recipes. In the kitchen of my parent’s house, I learned about many things over the years, joy, heartbreak, politics, humor, I told my parents I was pregnant for the first time, sitting across the counter while my dad made dinner, and years later that I was getting divorced – with tears of anger and regret. For any of you that knew my dad, you’ll know that I can’t really repeat any of the things he said to me during those encounters, but I’ll let you smile and lovingly remember on your own, how truly colorful he could be. But, I’ll tell you the truth today, not one of my very fondest memories of my dad are anywhere else but in the kitchen, no matter how good or bad things were in our lives, no matter how much he liked or disliked you at any given moment you knew that once he got in front of that stove and started crafting together a meal you would be entertained, taught something new and above all loved through what he was cooking for you. I only hope that, as my girls get older they will learn that from our kitchen as well, so that the legacy of Grandpa Chuck can continue for many generations to come.
Charles Ray Koscinsky
1937-2010
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