Craving Fish sticks: OR, Becoming My Father

It is friday, and, as with almost EVERY Friday, I was craving fish sticks today-- not the tasty Gorton's gourmet kind, but, the real "stick"--still a bit frozen, barely resembling fish, crying out for tartar sauce, needing to be buried in cocktail sauce--but, still, it's FRIDAY, and my body seems to want them: that really needs to be examined, and, yes, I know that it is a deeply rooted impulse, created at Eustic Park Elementary, roughly around 1962, when, in deference to Catholics who could eat only fish on friday, served ONLY fishsticks as the school lunch on fridays. Always the same-fishsticks, cole slaw, tater tots, and a chocolate Moo Bar for dessert-served with the carton of milk on the laminate tray. Now, 45 years later, I want the SAME exact lunch/or dinner, and I'm both surprised, amused, and just a little troubled by the desire: it is a major indicator that I am becoming my Father.
I'm really not sure if my father ever ate fish sticks on fridays, or, if he ever ate school lunches when he was attending the Garfield, Georgia schools in the 30's and 40's. BUT, what I deeply know is that my father lived in a routine, and craved consistency as much as I crave fishsticks on friday.
At his memorial service, where I did the eulogy, I met several people that my father had befriended on his travels as a seed rep for Tri-Chek Seed, he had befriended them at the motels, coffee shops, gas stations, country stores feed and seed stores, porches and diners along his route.
A few years before Dad had his stroke, I spent a couple of days with him "on his route." He was quite a conversationalist, much more than he was a salesman. He would take his seed catalogs into a feed and seed store in the small farming towns of SC and GA, and would spend time talking to the men gathered around the counters and wood-stoves in the stores. They sometimes were whittling, chewing tobacco, smoking, drinking: He would find out what they were planning on growing, listen to their stories, tell them jokes and stories, laugh at his own jokes and theirs, and then write up an order: maybe. Today, you would say he built "relational capital," but, mostly he cut the fool, and laughed his way into a sale of soybeans or corn or grass.
After being with him on his first stop, I realized that he could actually complete the transaction in less than 10 minutes, but, Dad would take hours on each stop. His boss, Richard Gunter, liked my dad's approach, and almost everyone on his route "loved B." He told stories about my brother and I, his 2 grandsons, hunting, fishing, his "land" and talked football and cars. He wasn't exactly well-read or completely truthful, but, he had an opinion, but, mostly, I know that my dad genuinely loved people, and liked to be around them: BUT, he mostly liked the consistency of seeing the same people, in the same place, at the same time, and having the same conversation, in the same place at the same time. He slept in the same motels: The Red Roof Inn, mostly, most of the time in the same room, sat in the same place at the diners and coffee shops, and was served by the same waitresses, mostly named Mabel and Maude and Shirley. My dad did not like for his world to change, and did not like to be confronted with change. He wore mostly the same clothes all of his life, combed his hair the same way, used Vitalis and Aqua Velva, until he became attached to Aqua Net hairspray (which I found odd, but, comforting) and, usually had a toothpick in his mouth. He tipped, he laughed, he did not have an evil bone in his body, just a simple, quick smile and a goodness (that I miss terribly today.)
Tonight, Friday, I realized that what I was craving, like fish sticks, was a routine, a consistency, with the same people, in the same place, at the same time. I want a sameness. I go to the 5:00pm service at my church, and try to sit in about the same place (always on the right rear of the sanctuary) not to be stubborn, but, to feel secure in the routine. I love my house, and my neighborhood, and my car, and the sounds of the train and the smells of Mexican food and jasmine and exhaust.
After living in Aiken, Charleston, Ft. Worth, Garland, Dallas, Anaheim, Stanton, Huntington Beach, Long Beach, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Mill Valley, and Fresno: I want to be still, to be in a routine, even a RUT, and eat fish sticks on friday, go to garage sales and nurseries on Saturday, eat waffles on Sunday, eat Mexican on Monday.....I want to sit with the same people, OFTEN, and feel the comfort of not having to explain myself or apologize for myself or define myself.
Last week, I stood in front of over 1,000 people: not all at once, but, in classes at Fresno Pacific and Fresno State, and churches and committees and conferences: and, I looked at 1,000 faces: and, I wanted to run away some of the time, and look at the same faces over and over, even the face of my cat. I was not tired of being with people, I was tired of being with SO many people who did not know me, who did not know what my heart wanted to say, or how I felt, and how desperately I wanted them to understand HOPE and stuggle with questions that matter.
I like the consistency of my work in Knoxville: I go there once a month, pick up my rental car at the same airport in the same place, and drive to the same hotel, and eat at the same restaurant, and look at the same mountains, and talk to the same group of people from the same organization. Fish sticks, and I love this part of it. BUT, I am also glad that it is a limited contract, and in a year or so, I will NOT go back to Knoxville, but, will go to Atlanta and do the same thing. The difference between my father and me here is that he would still be going to Knoxville. Sometimes I think that I like the consistency because it offers safety, but, then, I am willing to take risks with people and places and food and ideas: maybe I want fish sticks served Vietnamese style or Armenian cocktail sauce.
So, for today, this friday, I want to eat with Gabe, hold my cat, listen to music, watch Letterman until the Top Ten list, sleep under beige jersey sheets, sleep on the right side of the bed (away from the clock) and get up and drink coffee and go to garage sales and nurseries. My fishsticks. I am my father.