Art by William Blake
Actual dad actually wanted me to post this.
This post is a response to: https://steemit.com/writing/@mitthradiumn/ham-stew
"I have had the opportunity to peruse the recent critique of a meal I prepared for my ungrateful children in the distant past. I do have a relatively clear recall of that event and I must say the expose provided by my son is weakly, loosely and floppily similar to the reality. The event was precipitated by pure chance or destiny depending on your philosophical persuasion. It began with a walk down the produce aisle of the local grocery. Some industrious young farmers had put together a large collection of all the vegetables needed to make your very own ham stew. This included 2 large cabbage, 10)bs potatoes, carrots, turnip etc. The entire bag was difficult for one person to carry and screamed deal. Screamed it. Like: DEAL! That was crude, I apologize.
Not wanting to waste any of the materials I decided to prepare the entire bag and threw it into the largest commercial 2 handled pot I could find. I only found one bevause why woukd a normal household have more. Matthew. When the ham and water were added it took a very good man (as Matthew is not a man and Mitchell is not good it was me, the good man) to lift onto the stove. I did some quick calculations and was shocked to realize I would have enough to feed approximately a family of three for a week and a half. I reassured myself that it was always good to have extras in case company came, even though that was horseshit because neither my sons or I had friends. If one could look past their objective lack of ability, talent and any likable or productive human traits, their desire to consume food was one of the few things that seemed to function reasonably well in an otherwise disappointing emanation of human evolution to that point .
I will admit that I may have miscalculated the cooking time. Apparently some vegetables have a tendency to disintegrate when boiled for such a period. When I peered into the pot it appeared most of the solids had dissolved into a thick paste. In my defence there were a few recognizable carrot remnants and the cabbage fiber had held up remarkably well. The ham poked up through the center much like the head of a ripening boil waiting to be lanced. By now you will have read the rambling, semi-coherent account of this event by oldest son. Rather than carry on and engage in a shared adversity that could have forged some sense of familiar solidarity they chose to openly defy me, demanding pizza instead. I will admit to having written something similar to what my son has penned and attributed to me. I most vehemently deny writing the crude "Fuck You". I would never have encouraged more of that behavior as I was the one doing the laundry and had ample evidence that he was already engaged in a generous amount of self stimulatory activity. Apparently he has kept a copy of my note and I expect he has presented this to his therapist as partial explanation of his widespread neuroses and other deficiency's. The boy was just born a bitch. Dr. Sheehy"https://medium.com/@mithradiumn
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