POEMS AND SHORT STORIES BY MARY E. CODY

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DAD’S WATERMELON CAPER
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My parents ate very healthful foods. Having fruits and veggies in their diet daily was routine. Every day regulars were grapefruit, bananas, sweet potatoes and green garden salads. But the fruit that Dad was crazy about was watermelon.

I think Dad measured time by that huge green fruit. His new year started when the first ones hit the market. He was a master at thumping, sniffing and hefting the likely candidates. Once chosen room was made in the fridge and it dominated the white interior with its bold green presence.

When it came time to carve the melon Dad served huge pie shaped wedges. The moment of truth as to the wisdom of his selection was laid bare. Deep red flesh with a tinge of silvery sugary hue meant it was just right. Dad would beam with anticipation as each mouthful was savored by guests. Even the seeds were valued in our house. Dad would claim that the Sultans of Arabia snacked on dried seeds. He liked the large seeds because they held a large sweet white center that made the drying and shelling worth the work. Of course my Dad also used the bywords from someone who lived through the Great Depression, “Waste Not, Want Not”. We kids heard them often.

Dad got a brain storm one late summer day while mulling over the sad prospect of the many watermelon-less months that stretched ahead. He decided to try to preserve a whole watermelon to be savored in the middle of February! His method was quite unorthodox to say the least. He decided to select a prime candidate and VARNISH it!. He thought that several applications would shield the watermelon from decay. So Dad lovingly created a net cradle from twine and suspended the fruit from the rafters in the basement. Thus snug in its hammock it hung like some strange piece of modern art awaiting its unveiling.

The day of the taste testing finally arrived. It was a typical frigid February weekend. We were all summoned for the ceremonial cutting of the watermelon. Dad went to the basement much in the manor of a wine enthusiast fetching a prized bottle of his best vintage. We gathered around the kitchen table as Dad gently placed the gleamingly varnished melon in the center. The huge knife Dad used for slicing melons was at the ready. All we needed was a drum roll. It was oddly quiet, almost reverent as the knife sawed through the layers of varnish and twine. As soon as the knife broke through to where the sweet center should be we knew something had gone terribly…no horribly…wrong! There was no sweet center at all, just a foul mess. After a moment of shocked paralysis we all were galvanized into action..some us getting toweling to contain the mess, other fleeing for the cold air of the backyard to breathe our lungs clear.

Back inside the house my Mom was already making coffee and setting the table for some cake..Mom’s remedy for everything . Dad was sitting at the table silent, with an oddly crooked smile on his face. Usually no slouch for making witty remarks even my brother was speachless . My sister and I commented on the cake and Mom poured more coffee. No one wanted to hurt Dad’s feelings about this failure but the urge to laugh was boiling just under the surface and we knew it just had to break free.

Dad finished his cake, looked around the table and said,

“Remember the time I tried to squeeze oranges using your mother’s wringer on the washing machine and all the bitter oils got into the juice?”

We all nodded wondering where he was going with his thought.

“Well, this was just another FRUIT FAILURE”.

Dad grinned and the laugh dam was broken.

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