Memorial Day. A day to honor the heroes who died in defense of our country. A day of parades and parties and people.

And a day for cookouts.

On days like these, I miss my dad so much that my heart hurts. Even though 34 years have passed since my dad died, each time I smell the newness of a summer cookout or see the cold weather “gear” pulled from the grill… I think of my dad. No-one loved to cook-out like my dad. I see him standing over the charcoal with the lighter fluid, patient and smiling. I see the matches and smell the residual smoke. Remember… we didn’t have fancy grills in those days. We had little black iron pits in which you placed your charcoal, and spread it evenly so the fire caught just right, so none of the hot dogs or burgers grilled faster than the rest. I see my dad fanning the fire, making sure that it didn’t get too hot, too soon.

I still see him.

I see the hamburgers, all neatly and perfectly placed on a platter covered with aluminum foil. My dad had a hamburger press… I still have it… that he would use to meticulously shape our burgers. He knew for a fact that perfect burgers began with the hamburger press. There were no pre-shaped burgers back then. No, sir. They were made by hand, with love, and with the help of the hamburger press. I remember watching him. Then he would put the burgers on the platter with the aluminum foil and carry them to our charcoal barbecue.

I don’t think I ever remember my dad flipping a burger without a can of ice cold beer in one hand. (Maybe this is where I get my love of a good cold beer on a nice summer day!) I never felt as happy or as safe as on the days that my dad got that little black barbecue thing going. I remember these days and nights in California. My dad was in the Navy, so when he was home from sea-duty, that barbecue grill was sparked up all the time. Then New Hampshire. And Rhode Island. The preparation. The aromas. The feel of it. The wonder of it. Each time.

On days like today, on days like these, I miss my dad so much that my heart hurts.

I love you, Dad. I know you are watching. I feel you all around me. But on days like these, I can still smell that charcoal and see that residual smoke and I know you’re here. Thank you for this. And thank you for such perfect memories.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone!