Last updated at 1:26 pm UTC on 1 July 2002
It was Thanksgiving. I had come home from College for the weekend. My mother had made turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, stuffing, cranberries, and rolls. When we all stat down at the dinner table. The table was a sturdy dark wood farm table. The table reminded me of my grandmothers table on the farm in Wisconsin. We passed the plates around the table and all the plates would stop when they got to my father, he some how neglected to think that any one else would want any of the food that was sitting next to him. When the table space would get too crowded around him he would start passing the vegetables to me, since I was seated next to him. He didnít care for vegetables; the only ones he would even touch were corn and potatoes. He still didnít really care for them all that much though.