Forgive, forget.

To my wonderful dad.

My father would have turned 95 today.

Like many fathers of his era, when he came home from work, he could be either jovial or short-fused. As a kid, I was not privy to the external events or internal feelings shaping his moods, which kept me guessing about which Dad I’d get.

A cardinal rule in our house was to not waste food. If we didn’t like something, we’d have to take a no thank you portion, which meant small but compulsorily consumed.

Peas were where I drew the line. I was six or maybe seven when one night, my father and I squared off. There I was, with my no thank you peas, unwilling or unable to force them down, him looming over me like a thunderhead, not about to let me leave the table until every pea was gone. After much back-and-forth frustration, he impaled some peas on a fork with one hand and with the other, plugged my nose, forcing me to open my mouth. I was crying hysterically, which can’t be great for digestion. Later, when I got into bed, I was feeling pretty sick.

Of course I blamed my father. As I lay in bed, thinking about the taste of those peas and dreading their imminent reemergence, my father came into my room. I was not happy to see him. Astonishingly, even unprecedently, he told me he was sorry. I may have been feeling bad but it was clear he felt worse. He asked me if there was anything he could do to make it up to me. I told him to talk to me about beautiful flowers. I thought this would get my mind off the peas.

I still don’t know why I chose flowers.

In his deep news anchor voice, he told me to close my eyes and imagine I was in a field of wildflowers. Daisies and cornflowers, Queen Anne’s lace and lavender. He described them all. This went on until I drifted off to sleep without throwing up.

All these years later I can close my eyes and hear his voice describing flowers. I can’t even imagine, much less hear, that same voice telling me to eat my peas, god damn it.

I think this is how memory does its most beautiful work. Gently, thoroughly, leaving only love. I’m even cool with peas.