Mom & Dad Memories

This item collects all the replies to "Note: *Flowerr* *Flowerr* Sunday is Mo..." and "Note: June 18 is Father's Day. Repl..."

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The game:
Reply to this post with a memory of something that involves your mother.
It must be something positive or funny.
It must fit into the Writing.Com 13+ rating.
The five best replies will get the "Time to Parent" merit badge.

Click on each badge to see who won.

Here's one of my memories:
NaNoNette : When I was in preschool, my mom was always very involved with creative things to do for us. One day, she spent hours filling glass bottles with different levels of water. Us children were supposed to use xylophone sticks to make music with those bottles. Instead, we drank the water and were all soaked from top to bottom at the end of the day. I still remember that feeling of sticky wet clothes. So much fun.

JCosmos wrote: "No Mother's Day for My Mother" 

Angelica Weatherby- Grateful28 wrote: My mom makes the most delicious dessert. It's called a sweet noodle and she puts raisins in it. Though I don't care for the mouth numbing black spice she also puts in it, I eat it all up. This maybe the last year I can enjoy eating it before getting surgery to lose weight. She tries her hardest to help me out. We try everything out. But don't forget about the dessert! Yummy. To date I've lost almost 30 pounds. *Wink* I just need to keep it off and lose more.

Pumpkin Spice Sox wrote: We lived in a mobile home when I was little. I remember my mom sitting on the bathroom counter with her feet in the sink to shave her legs. The fake wood paneling and 70s orange shag are vivid in my mind.

Sharmelle'sThankfulExpressions wrote: "My Unique Family" 

Write_Mikey_Write! wrote: Mom was a great cook. We enjoyed everything she fixed, except... She made a cheese-and-spinach-based dish one time when I was in junior high. A couple of my younger brother's friends left before it was ready, but were interested to know how it tasted since the spinach-y aroma filled the house.
I don't remember what the replacement dish was, but nobody ate the original meal - including Mom.

Scifiwizard Retired wrote: I am still making memories with my mother. One of my fondest memories is her saving every drawing, every story and every card my siblings and I ever made so she could look back at them and live those memories with us again and again.

Nobody’s Home wrote: My mom had her moments. For birthdays every year she baked angelfood cake with lemon-drizzle icing. (For the girls, the icing was colored pink.) But one year, I think when I turned eleven, she got it in her head to make me a special cake. And she did! It was amazing – it looked like a hamburger. You've probably seen cakes like it over the past few years on Bake-Off and other competitive baking shows. But this was around 1980. I have no idea how she did it, but I remember that it really looked like a cake-sized hamburger.

Looking back on it now, the really great thing about that cake is that she probably made it because she saw it in a magazine and thought it would be fun to do. But she wasn't (and still isn't) the kind of person who does something out of their comfort zones. She's stays in her normal space – grew up in large Catholic family in the Fifties. The fact that she challenged herself and allowed herself to do something fun, and buy the tools and ingredients she'd need to do it? That had to have been a big deal for her. Looking at it from her perspective makes the memory all the sweeter.

Sunny wrote: My favorite memory I have of my Momma is singing with her. She was a very good singer.

Choconut wrote: Mum was a quiet but super intelligent woman. She was also the bravest person to have lived. Like, ever. She had severe rheumatoid arthritis and was in constant pain, but I never once heard her complain. But, my memory ... Every Easter, she would make the most wonderful treasure hunt for me to find my egg. She wrote amazing, rhyming clues to take me to the next clue, and eventually to the egg. It was my favourite part of the holiday. Even better than the chocolate egg — and we all know how much I love chocolate!

QPdoll is Grateful wrote: When I was thirteen, my family and I lived in Texas. My mother and I went to a furniture store, and next to that furniture store was a game room. (For those of you who don't really know what that is, it's a place where lots and lots of video games were available to play.) So, I asked my mom for money to go play some games while she looked for furniture.

Well, I finished playing games, having spent all my money, and went out to walk next door to the furniture store. The problem was, when I walked out, I didn't see our car anywhere. So I went back to the game room and made a collect call to my mother on a payphone. (Those were public telephones where you had to pay money to use them. But you could make a "collect" call and whoever you were calling would pay the fee.)

So my mother answered when I called home. I asked my mom, "Did you forget something?"

"What?" she said.

I told her, "Me!"

"Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry. I'll be right back."

It didn't take her long to get back to pick me up. She's never lived that down all these years. I still tease her about it and we have a good laugh.

Madelyn Gobble Gobble Stone wrote: Every other Sunday morning, my mom and I would go to the grocery, just us. We were up before the sun and drove the 45 minutes to the bigger store, so we could get the best prices and she would set our family up with groceries for another 2 weeks. We didn't have a lot of money, so it was important to use it wisely. She still managed to get us some special things, too. Those mornings were special to me because it was just mom and me.

It always seemed like we talked more easily and laughed together on those mornings. It was like a little island of time among the everyday stresses. She taught me about how to calculate pricing, so you get the most for your money. Also, how to pick the best produce. We talked about recipes... and life. By the time we were leaving to come home, the sun was up and we always went through a drive-thru to grab a snack for the ride home. That was special, too because we didn't eat out often at all.

I miss those mornings with mom, but I've held on to the feeling that I had and it makes going to the store a special time for me with my family now.

Purple Holiday Givings wrote:
I'm struggling between 2, but here's one.

I was 12 or 13. We were supposed to leave for a funeral in Ohio by 10 am. My mom was a nurse and had to work a double in order to get that Saturday off. Arriving home at 6am, she crashed on the couch and I was in charge of packing the things we would need for an over night trip.

I couldn't figure out where I was supposed to put something in the suitcase. I tried waking her, pulling her arem, kept asking her where she wanted this item to go when finally she muttered "put it in a peripheral IV."

🤦‍♀️😄😄😄😄😄

I wish I could remember what that all important item was.

Sumojo wrote: We three kids were all wartime babies. My dad was away for six years fighting in France and Germany. He obviously came home on leave at least three times! I was eighteen months old when he saw me for the first time when the war was over. Being a sole parent during those war years made my mum very resilient. She was afraid of nothing, or so I thought. I have a vivid memory of being lifted up on to a sideboard while my mother stood on the kitchen table. The reason? A mouse! She’d seen a mouse run through the house! I have no idea who coaxed her down and saved us from the dangerous creature.
My husband and I emigrated from England and after dad retired they joined us in Australia. Now Australia is full of deadly creatures, but nothing scared my mother until once she had a rat in the house. She made dad agree to move into a motel until the offender was caught and disposed of.
She died in 1985 in England where she returned after my dad died here in Australia. She said she wanted to die back in her home country.
I miss her still, very much. She was the best.

Prosperous Snow celebrating wrote "Remembering Mama" 

IceSkatingSugarCube wrote: My mom had a dream one time that she was making cat-shaped cookies. She needed a lot of them quickly, so when she ran out of dough much sooner than expected, she panicked. Finally, she thought up a plan. She headed out the back door and caught as many of our cats as possible, then tossed them in the oven. This is where she awoke, disturbed and amused.

Tinker wrote: "A Gift From Mama" 

ദƖυҽყҽʐ 🤍 wrote "Cream of the Crop" 

Olivia: it's NaNo-Time 34238 wrote: Actually, this is my first conscious memory. *Delight*

My mom had just divorced from my biological father, and she and I lived in a maisonette in Deckstein in Cologne. It was a wonderful summer early afternoon.

Sunny, balmy air, a light breeze coming in through the terrace doors, birds chirping, bumble/-bees humming and buzzing in the flower pots outside. The radio was playing in the background, too.

It would've smelled like flowers as well, but that day it was rather Frittenfett cause mom was making fries, one of our favorite junk food.*Hungry* And, decent Rheinländer that we were, we ate them with an obscene load of Mayo.*StarStruck*

Mom was huffing and puffing because she was pressing the stubborn, bretthart potatoes through an old-fashioned fries-cutter. I sat on the counter next to her, hungrily watching (little poop me*Rolling*).

Suddenly, she dropped the fries-cutter, with the potato sticking half in it yet – one end round, the other raw fries already*Laugh* – lunged at the radio and yanked up the volume. Before I knew it, she'd scooped me up and danced with me through the open kitchen / dining / living area, loudly singing along to Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA.

Mom meant I looked quite... consternated*Shock2* (yeah, wouldn't have occurred to me, either, that a three-year-old can look consternated*Rolling*) when she told me about that day when I was older.

It's weird: still today when I'm making fries (without the work-out replacing fries-cutter), I hum Born in the USA. When I'm in a good mood, I even sing it. But I should be careful with that word... it's more acoustic torture. *Shock*

Let's say that any possible "victims" can consider themselves lucky that I live alone. *Rolling*

On April 12, Mom was deceased six years. Our relationship was World War III. most of my/our life, but those few good times over the decades stand out like lighthouses in that darkness.*Heart*

I think "up there" Mom's happy that I finally break the cycle she was unable to break in her lifetime. Love ya, Old Woman.*Heart*

💙 Carly-wrimo 2024 wrote: "A Mother's Sacrifice " 

Weirdone-Back in the games wrote: I barely remember this, but when I was a toddler, I was eating a pear. I said that it was a "peach". My mother corrected me and said that it was a "pear". I doubled down and said that it was a "peach". Well, we argued back and forth like that for however many minutes, until finally my mother gave up and said, "If you want, you can call it 'broccoli'."

The story might not have been worth writing down except that the sentence became an important institution in our family. For years afterwards, whenever two members of the Lella family got into an argument about the proper name for something --a common occurence incidentally--it was customary to end the argument by saying, "If you want, you can call it 'broccoli'."

Go figure.

Jeff wrote: When I was younger, I went through a phase where I had a number of warts on my hands and forearms that I was really self-conscious about. My mom helped me try a bunch of remedies, from ointments to medications to freezing them. Nothing worked.

One night, we were vacationing at my grandparents' lake house in Montana and she woke me up around 11pm and told me to come with her. There was a full moon out and a completely clear night as we climbed into my grandfather's boat and motored out to the middle of the lake.

She told me that she read about an old folk remedy/superstition for warts where, under the light of a full moon at midnight, you rub raw potatoes on them and then bury them. She had brought a potato and a paring knife and we did the ritual exactly as she read about and tossed the potatoes overboard before going back to my grandparents' house and tucking me into bed. For a long time, it was a secret just between us.

The remedy didn't work (surprise) and my warts ended up just going away in due course a couple years later, but she always claimed that the ritual was what did it, even if it took a while. She claimed it's because pseudoscience isn't 100% accurate. *Laugh*

This has always been one of my favorite memories of my mom because it highlights the two things I loved most about her... that she would do absolutely anything to help her kids (no matter how outlandish), and that she was always full of fun and crazy ideas that she wasn't shy about acting on. My childhood is full of these kinds of moments, which are the ones I find myself revisiting the most as an adult, and the ones I most want to emulate with my own kids. I hope one day they have a "midnight potato" story about something crazy they did with their dad.

 

June 18 is Father's Day. "Note: June 18 is Father's Day. Repl..."
Reply to this post with a memory of something that involves your father.
Reply by Sunday June 18 at 11:59 p.m. Writing.Com time.
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NaNoNette Here's one of my memories:
My dad taught me how to separate parsley into the leafy part and the stems. He said we don't eat the stems. I may not have followed that bit of advice my whole life, but I remember it.

AmyJo-Thankful in heart wrote: I remember following my dad into the garden. I was trying very hard to follow his steps. I also remember being mad because I was a girl and could not grow up to be "just like my dad". He was my first love, my first hero, and even now; I am grateful that I have my dad in my life. It's kind of funny, as he is technically my "step-dad", but he is the only "Daddy" I've ever known. I wouldn't trade him for anything.

ദƖυҽყҽʐ 🤍 wrote: When I was a young girl, my dad was a Boy Scout leader and the boys were always at our house doing 'projects'. Yay! Boys! I remember one project was a bicycle built for 4. (like 2 tandem bikes, side by side) Dad promised I could ride on it, but it fell apart on its maiden run and I never got my turn!

Angelica Weatherby- Grateful28 wrote: I went fishing with dad. Usually the bluegills bite. But on this day just before the rain hit I caught a 5 pound catfish. It was a female and larger than the one dad caught. We took both home and skinned it and ate it. I ate mine in two pieces because it didn't fit the pan. So a success story and we did avoid getting drenched, though might have gotten a little wet. Lol

LinnAnn -Book writer wrote: My mom moved us around a lot but my dad found us. He showed up at our door and said he wanted to take me to Disneyland. Disneyland was only 1 year old at that time. She didn't look sure but said he could. We went to the theme park and it was wonderful, except the wicked witch. She scared me so bad. I was only 3. Instead of taking me home afterwards, he kidnapped me and we flew back to Washington state. He sent her letters from me from Alaska, which wasn't a state yet. So technically I was out of the country. He saved me and I thank him for that.

Beholden wrote: "A Tale of My Father" 

Tornado Dodger wrote: My mom remarried when I was 18 and my new stepdad was trying to be fatherly and join in on things he thought he should do. He offered to drive when I had to go to the eye doctor. Now he knew I wore glasses but that was about it. So he waited patiently and when the exam was over, the doc brought me out and he asked "So doc, how'd she do?" to be friendly.
The doc looked at him and said, "Well, you know the big E on the chart?"
He said, "Yeah..."
"She thought it was an F"
He looked at us both unsure and a little shocked, then the doctor burst out laughing.
That was over 30 years ago and I can still remember how hard we laughed just like it was yesterday. He was a great dad and I miss him.

s wrote: My father died when I was 10 and we had not reconciled a disagreement. I remember him slapping my fingers when I held a cricket bat wring, and I remember him making me kick a football on the local oval in pouring rain because he thought I wasn't good enough at sport. I also remember him not really being impressed when I got all As on a report card.
I did learn, though, to be a better father to my own kids.

Solace.Bring wrote: Father and Daughter
There’s a photo I’ve seen
of a strong young man --
exhausted, in a
rocking chair,
sleeping newborn
on his undershirt chest.
I had just met
that farmer’s son,
but I grew to love him because
my father was exceptional.

QPdoll is Grateful wrote: One of the best memories I have of my father is when he would pull out his 45-sized records and we'd make a night of listening to the music and bopping our heads to the beat. My dad used to sing in a band when he was young and I loved to hear him sing along with the songs. (His favorite song was "Blue Moon" by The Marcels.) (My favorite was "Then He Kissed Me" by The Crystals.) It got to where I learned the songs, too, but I don't sing well. Ha! He was also the "cool" dad who would drive me to hang out with my friends and pick me up later. My mom wouldn't have let me hang out with my friends that late at night, but dad did. I'm lucky and blessed to still have my dad with me. Unfortunately, he no longer has his 45-records.

Evie 🏳️‍🌈 write&blog : I have a lot in common with my father. Among other things, we were both underchallenged in our school years and are highly sensitive.
However, my coordination was not very good in the past. When I came home from school, we would tell each other about our day, playing badminton or passing and passing balls back and forth.
I got better quickly - I have him and his great teaching methods to thank for that!

Lilli 🧿 ☕ wrote: A few weeks back, my husband and I were at the market and an older man wearing Old Spice cologne walked past me, making me recall a memory.
We grew up kind of poor. Not so poor that we were on the streets or didn’t have food to eat, but extras were out of the question.
So, one year I asked for a typewriter for Christmas. I was hopeful because it was the only thing I had asked for and really wanted. Christmas morning came and there, under the tree, was a box with my name on it. I was very excited because the box seemed to be the right size. I unwrapped the gift and there it was…a Smith Corona typewriter in its original hardshell case.
Cool, right? Well, I wasn’t as excited as I should have been because I immediately recognized that it was used and beat up. My dad was proud of himself when he told me he found it at a pawn shop. He even got a new ribbon for it and cleaned it up as best he could. I remember thanking my parents, but I guess my father could see my disappointment and chaos ensued.
Most kids don’t realize their family’s financial situation until they’re grown and trying to make it on their own. Now, as a mother and grandmother, I understand the sacrifices parents make to give their kids a good, happy, and safe life.
My father wasn’t a perfect man, or even a good dad. But at that moment, he really tried to do something special. If I could tell him one thing, it would be that I’m sorry I didn’t recognize it at that moment.

tj-turkey-jobble-jobble-hard-J wrote: It's a little longer tale, so here's the link. "Turn the Boat!" 

Madelyn Gobble Gobble Stone wrote: My dad was a farmer and would spend from before the sun came up until after it went down in the field. When mom had lunch and supper ready, we would put it in containers and take it to him. Mom would park the car off the road by the field and we would wait until he would make the round with the tractor and then come park it by us so we could sit with him while he ate. I always got to take a ride with him for a few rounds (plowing up the ground or planting) and he would 'let me drive'. I loved it. Those times were so special because he wasn't so lonely out in the field knowing we would be there soon and we got to see more of him. He was always a hard worker. He farmed, drove a school bus, and was a volunteer firefighter and EMT for the town, among a lot of other things over the years. When I was really little, before I started kindergarten, Dad bought me a cowgirl hat that was exactly like his. It was my most prized possession. I ran around in jeans skirts, ruffled shirts, cowgirl boots and that hat. Love those memories.

Nobody’s Home wrote: One of the crafts I did in my two month stint as a Brownie when I was eight years old was to make a keychain for my dad for Father's Day. They gave us a small loop of leather already attached to a key ring, and we picked an image and used some mechanical thing with a lever that squished the image into the leather. Anyway, I chose a frog (because my dad liked to fish...?) and gave my dad a frog keychain.
My dad's never been interested in his kids, or grandkids for that matter. I honestly think he worked second shift so he wouldn't have to see us kids much. But when I was seventeen, he drove me to college and helped me move my stuff into my dorm room. Before he left he showed me his keys, and he still had that leather frog keychain. He even smiled as though he was proud of it. He's never said "I love you," but I think even now he has the keychain I made for him when I was eight.

iKïyå§ama wrote: "The Greatest Man " 

JACE wrote: My Dad was a quiet man, strong, yet firm. It fit with him raising three rambunctious boys and a tomboy daughter. We all knew we were loved; he and Mom were a great team and raised us right. With this, one of my favorite and unexpected memories of my Dad was of him and I walking along Main St. in our small town in Maine. I was about 13 in the late 60's. A pretty young lady wearing a mini-skirt and looking very fine was walking toward us. My dad smiled and nodded to her. As she passed by, he uncharacteristically turned to watch her walking away, while he was still walking forward ... and walked head-on into a signpost! I tried to keep from laughing and failed miserably. Then he looked at me and said solemly, "Let's just keep this between us boys."

Lazy Writer est 4/24/2008 wrote: My Dad was a special man! He had his faults but he was my hero! I knew if I ever needed anything he would be there. I miss him so much! I've been cooking for a long time and I remember my Dad teaching me how to make homemade gravy and how to cut up a chicken. I still make gravy like he taught me. Love you Dad!

Jeff wrote: "Fun" is not really a word most people would use to describe my father. He's very serious, rarely does things purely for enjoyment, etc. But one Christmas when I was younger, the whole extended family was together and decided to play Trivial Pursuit.
He reluctantly agreed to participate and, for most of the game, sat out like he always does, just observing. But at one point we got a question about Charles Shultz (creator of Peanuts) and his most famous character, and my dad apparently decided that this was his moment to shine. So he blurted out:
"Oh! OH! I know this! It's Charlie something... Charlie... OMG, WHAT WAS CHALIE BROWN'S LAST NAME?"
Everyone just stared at him for a full ten seconds, both because we've never seen him that excitable and because we were waiting to see if he realized he answered his own question. And he kept looking at his team expectantly, waiting for us to help him out. We all started cracking up.
It took him another few seconds before he realized what he said and a lightbulb finally went off... at which point we were all literally in tears we were laughing so hard.
Pretty sure that was the first and only time he's ever played Trivial Pursuit. At least with any degree of excitement.

tracker wrote: My Dad had bright blue eyes. When he laughed, his eyes twinkled. For show and tell, in my third-grade class, I brought my father to show his homemade telescope and talk about being an amateur astronomer. He carried the telescope as we walked the half mile to school. On the way, he told me the first dirty joke I ever heard.
"Two boys fell in the mud".
I learned life lessons that morning. Walking is a fun way to exercise. Volunteering to share your passion is rewarding. It is important to support your kids and grandkids in school. Most of all, never to tell a dirty joke.

Sum1's In Schaumburg wrote: Well, I have to confess that memories of my father are quite dim. He died in September, 1971. I was starting my senior year in high school, so it was a bit of a rough start that year. So my father... Hmmmmm, he had a stroke around 1965 or so, and couldn't work anymore. When he walked, he leaned to the right to help keep that vein in his neck open wider. Yeah, 1960's doctor advice. My mother started working, and was barely able to support us. My father was now the father figure, as well as the cook in the house. It was a stroke of fate that he had been a cook in the Navy, so he wasn't lost in the kitchen. I think my favorite dish that he made was Chicken Cacciatore.
For a long time in the mid-60's we ate a lot of beans, rice, potatoes, and basic meat cuts like hamburger, pot roast, whatever was available. My father was finally able to draw some social security (yes, back then you could draw it earlier than we do now). It wasn't a lot, except that first check must have been more than normal. There was an old ice cream freezer outside on the side porch/deck (very small deck it was too). One side deeper than the other, and he filled it using that first check. Suddenly we went from those basic meals to having steak of some type, roast chicken, pork chops. Believe it or not, after about three weeks, us kids (4 of us) complained about the food, and begged for beans again.
So I don't have the memories of my father like many of you do. He was older, 61 when he passed. He wasn't there to offer me advice when I was a young sailor in the Navy. I learned many things the hard way, or listened to friends, and took their advice. Still, he was my father, my memories are of him baking and cooking. We didnt have store bought snacks, but there was usually something to snack on in the kitchen. I think he was a better baker than cook.
He's buried in the National Cemetery in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I visit him when I'm in the state, if at all possible. Not near often enough, but I do visit him. And we talk.... Silently, but we talk.

💙 Carly-wrimo 2024 wrote: Here's my contribution.... and it's got me ugly crying. "Daddy's Little Girl"  He has been gone as long as he was alive this year. Cancer took him. Knowing he always watches over me has kept me on the straight and narrow.

Write_Mikey_Write! wrote: When my dad and I pulled into his office's parking lot one day, he pointed out a Pontiac LeMans and said it belonged to their secretary. He told me we could be riding in a nicer car than we had, but it was more important to him to take care of us than it was to drive a flashy car. The notion that it's important to deny self in order to take care of family has been my view pretty much ever since.

WakeUpAndLive~doingNaNo'24 wrote: I still miss him, my "Dad"  If he was alive today he would have helped me put up my newly delivered parasol. He was very handy.

rupali wrote: "Invalid Item" 

Legendary❤️Mask wrote: My favorite moment with my dad. He had said something to me that I’ll never forget. I was about 7 years old and woke up not feeling so good. I went to the bathroom and when I came out he called me into my parents room. He asked me what was wrong I told him and then he lifted up onto their bed asking me if I wanted to sleep with them? I shook my head yes of course. He told me that he’d be back in a few minutes and went to the bathroom himself. I cuddled up next to my sleeping momma. He returned as promised but before he turned out the light he asked if I was feeling better. Before I could answer him he looked at me and said hang on girl sit up here a second. So I did, he moved my hair from my eyes and kissed my forehead telling me that one day I would steal a man’s heart with those eyes of mine! He gave me a big smile and wrapped me up in his arms and whispered goodnight, I love you and turned out the light. The smallest things that we remember can be the biggest thing in our lives.

SandraLynn wrote: I've always been an accident -waiting-to-happen kinda girl. For some reason 'incidents' find me magnetic. As a child I'd seek my father's comfort after each 'episode'. With the hiccups that accompany shuddering/abating crying and fresh tears still blurring my vision Dad would wrap my hand in his strong, warm grip and encourage me to pull him to the scene of the 'crime'. There I'd point out the offending concrete sidewalk, or patch of grass, or camouflaged hole in the ground, or perhaps the bicycle that had bucked me off. Dad would hunker down and study the exact spot. "Yep, I see it. Look at that crack you made. That is a stupid place for a hole. Now, why would your bike kick you off?" When I'd calmed down and the sniffles deserted me he'd hug me and ask, "Ready to try again and make more bruises?" After a more serious bicycle crash when I was fourteen that created fractures, road rash and gashes plus copious blooming bruises Dad took one look at my obvious injuries and asked if there were more. I peeked under my torn t-shirt and snuffled, "No, nothing here." He made me snort when he replied to me the flat-chested daughter, "I already know that."

Olivia: it's NaNo-Time 34238 wrote: I've polished up – and verbally entschärft – a fine little adventure I so experienced with my Dad, 13 months before he left us. "Coldplay: Adventure of a Lifetime"  It contains: bickering, nasty French, great music, lost track, very hospitable French, a boot full of champagne, handmade culinary delights and probably cadeveric cheese.
Have fun reading!
Oh, and happy Vatertag!