The brief return of Dad

As kids proceed through their teens they become less dependent on their parents. They fight their battles without us. Their homework is too complicated for us to help with. We basically offer encouragement from the sidelines while they solve their own problems. This is as it should be. They’re not babies anymore.

But for a couple days last week I felt downright handy, because the problem was refreshingly old-fashioned: Have we got any food you don’t have to chew?

Over the holiday break our daughter Katie had her wisdom teeth taken out in a flurry of preventive dentistry. She was brave about it. I had to be dragged in for the same procedure when I was 37, and I thrashed around some in the chair. It didn’t hurt, really, but it sounded bad, like trees being uprooted inside my head.

Katie didn’t hear her trees being taken out because she’d already been taken out herself with a light anesthetic, so the discomfort didn’t kick in until she got home. Then she camped out on the couch and tried to get used to her four new gum sockets.

For two days she watched Japanese anime, took the prescribed medication and slept. She wasn’t alarmingly sick but she wasn’t tiptop. She was, in fact, a bit pitiful, so it was a chance to treat her like a kid again.

It happens that as a cook I specialize in the mushier dishes, and when she was little, Katie was partial to my catfish fillets and an item I called Scrambled Eggs with Invisible Cheese. I hadn’t had a request for these in some years, but I went to Ralph’s and picked up the ingredients, along with some macaroni, pudding and ice cream.

Back in the kitchen, I was nervous. It had been a long time. I didn’t know if the magic still lingered. People who’ve just had their wisdom teeth yanked can be picky. What if the catfish came out chewy? What if the cheese stayed visible?

Well, you didn’t get a taste so you’ll never know, but I will say this: At Ralph’s I noticed that Wolfgang Puck had his picture on several boxes of high-end edibles, and I suppose he deserves it, but I wonder if his catfish is so tender it’s practically nonexistent. I wonder if his cheese disappears as totally as mine did. Maybe there are others of us who could have our faces on boxes if things broke a little different.

What really cheered me was that Katie requested both dishes again the next day. Granted, she asked for a smaller amount, but I’d done it: I’d contributed to the upbringing -- nay, the survival -- of my child again.

By Friday she was admitting visitors, and on New Year’s Eve, when our neighbors came over for dinner, she could share in the conversation and nibble at Patti Jo’s shish kebab. On Sunday she went out for sushi with her friend Duke, and now she doesn’t need me again.

She’s not sick anymore, but it was fun while it lasted.20060106hrimoxkf(LA)