I keep on remembering one story about my dad's eating habits.
(For those of you just joining us here at RawYouth, my father had quadruple bypass surgery yesterday, after falsely being diagnosed with having a heart attack this weekend. He had other ailments, which mimicked a heart attack, but while they were futzing around, they realized that even though it wasn't a heart attack he had, chances are that he would have had a heart attack relatively soon.)
While I was home for Spring Break, the nuclear family travelled to my grandparents' neck of the woods and went out to eat to celebrate the death of their Lord and Savior. Everyone else split some appetizers, but my dad ordered a piece of French Silk pie, saying that he was always too full to enjoy dessert after the meals.
My sister and I, sitting next to each other, gave him the evil eye, and made incredulous faces to one another, muttering things about his diabetes. My mom, overhearing us, and responding to everyone else's mutterings and disbelief that a grown man would order dessert first, said "Well, he's a grown man. He's allowed to make his own decisions."
Even though I don't think that particular piece of pie did as much damage as the fried fish and oyster sampler plate he had for dinner, I can't help but be surprised by the fact that we were surprised that he was at a dangerously high risk for a heart attack.
