Leave No Spaghetti Behind!

“Eeeeew,” was the only sound to be heard. Did you even know that was a word?

There were wrinkled noses on every face, and Molly’s really looked stuck in place.

“What has happened to all of you? You love spaghetti, really you do,”

Cried Mom. But all she got was, “Eeeeew.”

“That’s ENOUGH!” Dad had entered the fray. Suddenly every face froze that way.

“Everybody up,” it was the drill sergeant voice. “Everybody up, and don’t make a noise.”

Now the boys stood lined up by their chairs, and Molly was giggling at dad’s fierce stares.

“I give you all five minutes or less, to get back here in full army dress.”

Then the only sound was pounding feet, as we all beat a very hasty retreat.

Not four minutes later this raggedy band, has back in a row awaiting commands.

“Now troops,” said Dad, “We have a mission. Listen close, there’ll be no repetition...”

“We leave no spaghetti behind!”

There was spaghetti on every face, and it might go down without much grace,

the slurping wasn’t very refined, but we left no spaghetti behind!

Now, Friday was never a very good night, fish just can’t go down without a fight.

That is until the very strange day, that dad appeared in costume to say…

“Now my cubs, as you know very well, bears love fish, I think it’s the smell.

So first of all I want to hear you growl. Good, now show me your best bear scowl.

And now that we’re all feeling good and bearish, let’s see you eat up all that fish.”

The fish was gone not a bone in site, and from that day on we were bears Friday night.

Who knew that a little variety, could cause so much mass anxiety.

“A dish of potatoes, is this all? I can’t eat just this,” was the general call.

“No, no,” cried Mom, “It’s shepherd’s pot pie.”

“If this is all you feed us we’ll surely die.”

Just then Dad showed up for dinner late, and taking one look at what was on his plate,

“All right boys, everyone sit up. If Molly wants to play she’ll have to keep up.

It’s men’s work that we have here to do; we’re seeking treasures rare and true.

I know it might not look like it, but if we dig and do not quit,

In these little potato-y pots, we’ll dig up treasure, lots and lots.

Now here’s the rule to this game, every treasure found must be called by name.”

We fished and we stabbed, we dug and we jabbed.

Peas of bright green, and carrots were seen,

Waved all about, as “Treasure!” we’d shout.

The occasional piece of ground beef; may have come to bit of grief,

But Rover cleaned up the bits on the floor, as dinner proceeded at a roar.

Then there was the very strange case, of the squash that got all over dad’s face.

Mom might say that it was good, but there in the doorway we all stood,

There was no way we were going to try, this thing we were sure would make us die.

Dad didn’t even try to coax, he didn’t argue or tell jokes.

He just sat down and took a bite, and suddenly we all took fright,

This time Dad was going to cheat, and leave us all with nothing to eat.

The way that Dad was carrying on, pretty soon it’d all be gone.

I gotta say, it sure looked weird, hanging there off of his beard.

But while he sat there and ignored, we suddenly with one accord,

Sat down, and when we took a bite, we all learned to like squash that night.

There is one Saturday I’ll never forget, when Dad had given his blood and sweat,

To BBQ to perfection, some burgers that upon inspection, we all gave a very thorough rejection.

You’d think he’d get mad, or at least be sad, but oh no, that’s not dad.

He just covered the meat, and told us all to take a seat,

while he with purpose in his stride, firmly disappeared inside.

It was the longest wait we’d ever had, while we wondered what had happened to Dad.

And there he was, dressed all in white, like some medieval castle knight,

Except for the hat pointing to the sky, “You don’t think I can cook?” it seemed to reply.

Dad line up four more hats in a row,

“All right, you experts, you have a go.”

What kind of kid wouldn’t want to chef, soon there wasn’t a burger left.

We piled those burgers with sauces, spicy and sweet, until you couldn’t even see the meat.

Then there were veggies, some normal some not, even the peppers that were usually too hot.

We piled them half a mile high, and topped it all off with a bun made of rye.

And when Stevie tried to get his in his mouth, half of it landed on the tablecloth.

We giggled and laughed ’til we were almost sick, and those burgers went down pretty quick.

Yup, dad sure thought that he was slick,

BUT…

Then there was that fateful Sunday, it was so bad you’d have thought it was Monday.

Everybody had to say “Eeeeew.” There wasn’t anything else to do.

Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mom. We all waited for the bomb…

Mom said, “Liver is good for you.”

And Dad said, “Honey, there’s nothin’ I can do.” Dad had met his Waterloo!