My Father's "Back to School" Steak

The smell of leaves burning, the last mowing of the yard until the spring, and the magical smell of steaks on the grill; those three smells culminate into the wonderful but bittersweet scent of the end of summer. It’s the scents that tell me that the carefree times of sleeping until 1 in the afternoon and staying out until the most ungodly hours of the morning with friends doing everything and absolutely nothing all at once are, sadly, over. The start of school was barreling toward me and every other student and there was nothing we could do about it. There was a small comfort that accompanied this unfortunate and annual event: steak. Not just any steak either, but a thick cut, heavily marbled, magically marinated, sinfully juicy, New York strip steak cooked to a perfect medium rare.

It was my dad’s gift to my sister and I. Not to say we were ever deprived, but steak like this certainly wasn’t a regular occurrence. It was our father’s way of comforting us as we entered into another year of intellectual development, or at least a year of sitting in class and spitting back all that we were “taught.” He wasn’t the man with the silver tongue who knew what to say when to say it all the time, but what he couldn’t say in words, he said in that steak. That steak said, “No matter what happens at school, or with your friends, or with anything else this year, your mother and I are both here for you to listen to your problems and to help you through them.” And that, to me, was the best thing my father could do for me, because when I did have problems, and believe me, I did have problems, he was always there to listen and provide his insight from when he was in my same position all those many years ago.