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Our Thing

It’s rare that I’ll eat a date without thinking of my dad.  Or without seeing him in my mind halving the thing with a butter knife to evict the pit when pulling the thing apart with my fingers is all I’ve ever done.  And all anyone should do.

And it’s near impossible that I don’t hear his voice as he raises the date–stuffed with a walnut– to mid-bite saying, “a delicacy…a delicacy!”

I don’t remember the first date I ate.  Or the hundredth.

I only know that last Tuesday we bought a 2lb tub of California Medjools from Costco and that we finished them this morning.  With no help from my husband.  He no likey

Which means that it’s our thing.  Me and the kids.  Me and the kids and the tub of dates.

And the walnuts.

Hanging in the corner of the kitchen where the two counters meet, raising our dates to our lips and thinking of grandpa doing the same…

Ahhh…

“A delicacy!”

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