A Father’s Day memory — The pineapple from afar

CONCORD, CA (June 16, 2024) — Having a fresh pineapple, during my childhood in northern Idaho in the 1970s, was a special treat.

It’s hard to think back to when fresh fruit was an event. However, my family once made an entire home movie, replete with scripts and costumes, about the harvesting of a single lemon from a small gnarled lemon tree that we grew in a pot. So a whole fresh pineapple seemed like a trip to Disneyland.

I don’t recall where these strange, rare pineapples came from. Perhaps our local supermarket occasionally got a shipment. Or maybe mom bought them while visiting my grandparents in Spokane. I knew only that when they did appear it was cause for celebration. Simpler times.

Usually my father undertook the solemn duty of preparing the pineapple. He sliced into the flesh with a surgeon’s precision. He cut carefully to preserve every ounce of sweetness while removing the barnacle-like skin. I watched his hands slice and chop, noting how important it seemed to not waste a drop. After dinner, the plate of sliced pineapple would arrive at the table and my brother and sisters would savor every bite.

My father’s hands — a doctor’s hands, a healer’s hands — fascinated me. When I was little, I would find him watching sports on television or having a glass of wine at the kitchen table, and I would explore the backs of his hands with my fingers. I had a particular interest in the thick veins. They looked so strange compared to my smooth, child hands. I would press down on the veins, imagining the blood inside being pinched off. Watching his face for a reaction, I would ask him if that hurt. It never did.

It’s been 10 years since I saw my father’s hands. Now in my 60s, I find myself thinking about him more, trying in some way to measure my years by his. I guess at this age it’s normal to start seeing your life not as a single story with a beginning and end, but more as a chapter in a larger story that connects each generation to the next. And when I look down, I see now that I have my father’s hands.