Sometimes It’s Best To Back Down

Family life brings challenges in many different ways, a few are best not met

There was a family tradition in the Barrabee household that the kids and I go to a different pizza joint every Thursday night. Give the wife a break in the action. Free her up to do what she wasn’t able to do when we didn’t do what we did — on Thursday night.

Notice I used the word joint? We preferred joints to restaurants. Price was not as much a factor as we just felt more comfortable in a joint than in a restaurant. Our only requirement was that the joint have an arcade game; preferably two or three.

This weekly ritual lasted until the last of my three kids went off to college.

First, my daughter.

Then my oldest son.

Which left — Matt and me.

Matt was a sophomore in high school when he was deserted on the pizza route by his college bound brother. It may be a great opportunity for he and I to have father- son one on ones

Invaluable.

There was a new pizza place that opened up around the start of the school year in a small strip shopping center about a mile from our house. Matt mentioned that all the kids in high school were talking it up.

Word had it from Matt’s friends that it more than fit our description of joint and best of all — had arcade games.

In one of our first forays together, just the two of us, we went there for our Thursday night pizza.

The place was buzzing.

Seemed like Matt knew most of the pizza eaters who were assembled; high school buds.

After a short wait, giving us the chance to test the arcade games, we were seated.

The menu was your basic pizza joint menu — perfect.

The waitress was different though.

She was an attractive woman in her mid 40 s.

When I ordered my usual: large vegetarian pizza, fries and a Coke,she said, “Honey, you don’t want a large pizza unless you’re planning on taking most of it home.”

Matt joined the conversation by placing his order of: a small plain, fries and a Coke.

The waitress piped in, “You mean you’re both not going to work on the large veggie?”

Matt proudly reported to the waitress, “ No my dad eats a whole large pizza every week for dinner on Thursday!”

All true.

The waitress replied with lackadaisical conviction, “Not this one dear. Nobody eats a large veggie at this place in one setting!”

Matt, pridefully, “My dad can!”

The server, leaned in, face about two inches from my son’s face with hip thrust to one side, one hand resting on it and the other on our table, order pad jammed in her pocket, “If your father can eat one of our large veggie pizzas by himself, you can bring in his picture, I’ll personally frame it and hang it on this wall,” pointing to a prominent spot in back of the cash register.

“Do it dad, do it dad, you can do it! Your picture can be there forever,”my son pleaded.

I had an initial rush of adrenaline, rising to the general challenge; also the desire that a father has to set a winning example for his son.

I remained steadfast with my dinner plans.

Between the time I placed the order, however, and the time Matt and I were served, I had a chance to reflect.

Fame is nice; is the price?

Did I really want a memorial as testimony to what some may perceive as my gluttony?

Will the picture of Matt’s father as pizza eater emeritus hung prominently in back of the cash box that may bring short term admiration and envy; change to bullying and ridicule at some time in the future?

I thought my decision was altruistic and courageous.

I asked the saucy waitress to wrap up the last piece for me to take home.

I withdrew from the challenge.