He smelled something burning and rolled over onto his stomach. He buried his face in his pillow.
"Son of a monkey goat!" His dad's favorite phrase carried up the stairs and into Jason's bedroom. Jason could picture the rest, he'd seen it enough. Dad would whip on an oven mitt and reach into the stinking oven. He'd pull out Mom's favorite dish and slap in on the stove top. The lasagna would be steaming and coated in a thick black crust.
"Gull blessed, Mary and Joseph!" his dad yelled.
Jason sighed and rolled out of bed. He took the stairs slowly. When he reached the kitchen, his dad was where he knew he'd be, bent over the kitchen sink, staring down into the basin, shaking his head.
"Just once," he muttered. "Just once."
His dad was near tears. Jason wrapped his arm around his dad's waist. "It's okay, Dad. Even if you cooked it perfect, it wouldn't be the same."
His dad nodded. "You're right, son." A tear slid down his cheek and settled in his mustache. "I sure do miss her."
"I do too, Dad."
Paul Michael Murphy from Holt, MI, is a third grade teacher who enjoys writing for children and loves his mother's cooked-to-perfection lasagna.
© 2008 Paul Michael Murphy. Original for CCF (Murphy grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology).