Pizza Dough

I made homemade pizza for dinner last night. And as I was kneading the dough, smelling the warm yeast, I thought of my father. And suddenly I was ten again, in our old kitchen, watching him fling ingredients around like they offended him. My father does almost everything fast...he eats fast, he vacuums fast (God help you if you are in his way), he showers in around 30 seconds, and he definitely cooks fast. Watching him slice a mushroom is like a magic act, now you see it, now you don't. Efficient. He is an efficient man. And endlessly fascinating to watch. Which is often what my little brothers and I did, lined up, eyes following him as he darted around the space, whipping up his specialities...popcorn popped over the stove, salted in a paper bag; skinny French baguettes; waffle iron waffles; and of course, the homemade pizza I was attempting to emulate. He always seemed to me to be such a capable person...you need it, he could do it. From an oil change, to a balanced checkbook, to a beautiful birthday cake, to a backyard swing set, to a perfect pitch. If something was broken, he could fix it. If something was lost, he could find it. If something was worn, he could make it shine again. And he would go about the task in his jeans and flannel shirts, wool sweaters, t-shirts...walking on his long legs with great purpose, his children trotting alongside him like puppies...through airports and across backyards and beaches. I don't remember him ever saying, "Okay, gang...pay attention...this is how you do this." But the lessons were there. And not just in lawn and car maintenance (which are his fortes), but in a million, little ways. How to pack a suitcase, how to shift a gear, how to drive a boat, how to route for the underdog...ride a wave, shake a hand, tell a joke, open a bottle of wine, shave a cat, make a toast, plant a tree, take a chance, sink or swim. Make a pizza.

I still call my father all the time asking for advice. I'm 32 years old. And I may forget his birthday every now & again, and I may have gone to the college he didn't want me to go to, and I may have bounced one too many checks, but I have my own home now and when I make my mortgage payments on time every month, I do it knowing that would bring him joy. And I married a man who I know will also inspire his children to be great, to reach beyond themselves, to be kind and decent human beings. And he may not know how to make a homemade pizza yet, but I happen to have the best teacher lined up...and he's just a phone call away.

(My father told me recently that his only problem with my blogs, is that they're too long. He suggested I write an abbreviated version at the bottom for him. So here it is...)

**Daddy's Version**

I don't even know how lucky I am.