TMI?

On this father's day, a word of thanks to a man who loves bread, hates traffic, and taught me that the Rolling Stones were always better than the Beatles.


There are many traits I've acquired from my dad. A love for classic rock. Unruly frizzy hair. A sometimes annoyingly loud laugh. An intolerance for Jersey drivers. The inability to tell a story as concisely as it could be. Occasional inappropriateness (warning: this post might be one such example). But lately I seem to have also acquired my dad's stomach issues. He has often been the butt of bathroom-related jokes; when I was a kid I didn't understand the connotation of the "out of service" sign friends had given him to take and hang on the bathroom doorknob. But over the years I learned, hearing my mother repeatedly warn him, "You shouldn't eat that. It's not good for you" - "good for you" was not a reference to the nutritional impact of a food, rather it's likelihood of causing him gastrointestinal distress. My mom told me that his stomach situation is now so widely recognized that a mere acquaintance standing near my father in line for a buffet at a community affair recently suggested he not partake of a certain food that would likely not "agree" with him. I find myself at a similar point, where friends and acquaintances alike are aware of my GI dysfunction and dietary restrictions and do not hesitate to let me know when I can or cannot eat something.

Having your digestive health as a matter of public record can be a bit embarrassing and invasive (though to a nutrition student it can also be oddly fascinating!), but I try to learn from my father whose general life approach is to laugh and not take himself too seriously.

Ciao, Papa!