Grill Master

The best part about grilling? Hard to say. Maybe it's that smoky smell and feeling the heat rising off the coals. And the taste, of course. Nothing beats food off the grill.

It's funny, 23 years ago you wouldn't have found me near a grill or any other cooking device. Cooking was my wife's job.

Until that summer I lost my job as a maintenance supervisor when the school I was working at closed.

Suddenly I was stuck at home with four kids while my wife brought in the paychecks. I didn't mind, really. I'd worked long hours and was looking forward to a break until something else came along. How hard was it being a stay-at-home dad?

Hard, I discovered quick enough, but manageable. Except the cooking. Man, I was a disaster. I'd forget to put the timer on and things would turn black.

Then I'd err on the side of caution and food wouldn't get cooked all the way through. I never set fire to the house, but I did once put a pot in the oven—which burned off the handles, filled the kitchen with smoke and set off the fire alarm.

I tried to master peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But Paul, our oldest, was allergic to the jelly. James didn't like peanut butter. My daughter, Debbie, complained that even the Kool-Aid I'd made was sour. Four-year-old Josh just enjoyed finger-painting on the window with yogurt, the only thing he'd eat.

Lord, I admitted, I'm in trouble. I underestimated this Mr. Mom thing. Finally I talked to my dad about it. "I'm either going to poison us all or we're going to starve to death," I told him.

"Why don't you try grilling?" he suggested.

I hadn't thought about that. Dad loved to grill. Especially at our yearly family reunions. He showed me how to load in the charcoal, how much lighter fluid to use. How to turn the meat and tell when it was done just right.

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