My Dad’s Steak Sauce
On their wedding day, brides usually share a first dance with their father.
I did not.
It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s just that when it comes to elderly Asian-American parents, you know you’re treading dangerously if you dare bring up any idea that involves them making even the slightest spectacle of themselves.
Oh, my shy, reserved Mom made it perfectly clear that if I made her get up and dance in front of everyone, she wouldn’t come to my wedding. I kid you not.
On top of that, my husband was quite sure his own father wouldn’t want to be two-stepping anytime soon. No, siree. My husband’s mother also was bedridden and couldn’t attend our nuptials. So, in the end, we decided to do away with that whole parental tradition and just share only the one dance with each other as man and wife.
I sometimes wonder, though, if I still should have taken my Dad’s hand and led him through one father-daughter twirl.
You see, my late-Dad actually liked to dance.