As I get older, I come more to the realization that history is important. I have become more interested in all types of history, but especially family history. My Dad, Curtis, is currently wrapped up in recording our family and hometown history. As I listen to the stories he tells, I understand how much about I didn't know (or forgot) about my roots. His stories root me to my family history.
I am so proud of my family's tradition of feeding friends and neighbors, especially BBQ. Dad would invite just about everyone to a covered dish dinner where the BBQ was the main dish (along with Walker's Brunswick Stew, but that's another story).
My fondest memories are the all night-ers, stoking the fire, shoveling the coals, and turning the spit that whole hams and shoulders were wired to. The pit was just simple cinder blocks put up earlier that day with a home-made rotisserie that would slide in. Dad taught my brother and me the patience needed to make sure nothing was rushed. The result was tender, juicy, smoky, and delicious pulled pork.
The next day would be spent going to local churches and funeral homes for folding chairs and tables to everyone would have a place to sit later that afternoon.
I try to carry on that tradition today by being generous with my hobby. I know Dad loves sharing his time and talent with friends and neighbors and he certainly passed that along to me. I get the most satisfaction out of seeing someone enjoy a rack of ribs or wiping sauce off their chins with a big grin. Food brings people together and everyone forgets our differences.
I am actively passing this same passion on to my son. The circle remains unbroken.
Thanks Dad. The family roots run deep.
