A dark roasted toast to dad

Today marked an annual shift in my morning ritual, a shift to iced coffee. The temps are warmer and a mug of coffee would make me sweat so instead I brew coffee super-strong, pour it on ice and enjoy. It reminds me of my dad.

My dad relished and celebrated rituals and traditions especially those around meals. One of his favorite dinners was cheese fondue. He would purchase the special wine and cheese only available at a German imported food store. There was a specific type of bread sliced in small cubes for dipping. We had a sterno heated cooking pot and a set of special forks. We often had guests at our table for cheese fondue. The house rule was if your bread fell in the pot you had to kiss your neighbor. My father loved the rituals of cheese fondue more than how it tasted. I’m sure of it.

The British have “high tea”. The Japanese have green tea. But dad was from New York City and he loved coffee. After dinner and before dessert my brother, my sister or I were assigned to the wall-mounted Arcade 25 coffee grinder for “20 cranks” of the handle. Boiling water was poured over the fresh grinds in a Melitta filter, which dripped into a special thermos. My father showed me how to scrape the sides of the filter as it drained so the grinds could steep and brew more completely. Even though we kids didn’t drink coffee we were part of the ceremony and we felt connected.

Dad was a Lutheran pastor and he loved to get people excited about worship, especially at Easter. He had an annual ritual for Good Friday. After leading mid-day services he would shave off his goatee or cut short his hair. One Good Friday in the 1970s he left the barber shop with an afro perm. Imagine the smiles in church that Easter Sunday! Two weeks ago I celebrated my dad with my own Good Friday trip to the barber. I took a couple inches of winter hair off my head before competing in the Boston Marathon and to get ready for bike training in the St. Louis heat.

Dad’s celebrated rituals are some of my favorite memories of him. I’m proud to share my dad’s fondness for ritual and his love of coffee. I celebrate every morning.

David's father, Daniel Pokorny, was a Lutheran minister for the deaf. He was the chaplain at Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C. and a professor at Concordia Seminary in Clayton, Missouri.