Catherine Nicolette
Dad and I were having one of our long heart-to-heart conversations while cooking the dinner.
St Patrick's Feast had been celebrated in style the night before by the local Welkom Irish Community.
Dad winced if there were any loud noises, and so I stopped banging so hard with the fork against the pot as I mashed the potatoes.
"What happened, Dad?" I asked.
"I can't remember," said Dad ruefully,
"But your Mom's remembering it for me."
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