I am a military brat. My dad was a career Marine Captain during the Vietnam era, and I grew up in military culture.
Reading Perry’s memoir of his father, the Master Sergeant, was both like finding a new friend and discovering an old one. The book’s title is You Are So Far Behind, You Think You Are In Front which is one of the Master Sergeant’s many sayings. The Master Sergeant served in the Army. Though of different ranks and different branches, the Master Sergeant reminds me of my dad in some respects–primarily in the sense of duty they both felt to their country and their refusal to tolerate nonsense.
Perry’s memoir of his father provokes both laughter and tears as many military stories do if told well.
Perry has brought his father back to life on these pages and oh how I wish I had had the opportunity to meet the Master Sergeant. Matthew Perry tells his father’s story very well.
For the past 18 months, I’ve been one of two Writers-in-Residence for the Museum of the American Military Family. With other folks, we have crafted a book that looks at gender, religion, race, identity, culture, and ethnicity in military environments. We did ourselves proud. The book is still in press, but the cover is ready and I’ve been given permission to share. I can’t wait until this is out in the world!
Step One: Using the lid of the turkey roasting pan that you lusted after for years and you finally inherited from your dad – the lid that is never used in turkey roasting because the pan never was tall enough to hold a 20lb turkey with it on — pour the two bags of the seasoned bread cubes you bought at the Kroger — Pepperidge Farm Sage & Onion, because you can’t find Brownberry Ovens any longer.
Step Two: Chop up two huge onions into cubes roughly the same size as the bread cubes. Use the knife you got as a wedding present for your failed marriage and the cutting board you inherited from your dead lover.
Step Three: Using the knife, sweep the chopped onion into the roasting pan lid on top of the bread cubes.
Step Four: Still using the knife and the cutting board, chop two bunches of celery into slices roughly a quarter in thick. If the stalks are wide, cut them in half vertically first.
Step Five: Using the knife yet again, sweep the celery from your dead lover’s cutting board to the lid of your dad’s turkey roasting pan.
Step Six: Using the wooden spoon like the old one your great-grandmother gave you years and years ago for your abruptly ended engagement six weeks before the wedding, stir the onion, celery, and bread cubes together.
Step Seven: Eat a handful of bread cubes, raw onion, and celery, remembering how you used to sneak it when your dad wasn’t looking. Not that he would of cared.
Step Eight: Using the wooden spoon and your fingers, stuff as much of the bread cube mixture as you can into the cavity of the turkey. Remember the time you forgot to remove the giblets and neck before stuffing into the turkey. Laugh.
Step Nine: Put the heavily buttered, salted, peppered, and stuffed turkey into the oven. Don’t forget to preheat the oven.
Step Ten: Fish around for the large glass baking dish from who-knows-where..
Step Eleven: Pour the remaining bread cube mixture into the glass baking dish. Wonder what happened to the blue and white Corningware one your dad used.
Step Twelve: Dot with butter (real) and moisten with giblet/neck broth you have simmering on the stove with a bay leaf. Laugh again about the year you didn’t take them out of the turkey before stuffing.
Step Thirteen: Cover the dish with tin foil and set aside until the turkey is done. (Sneak a handful of moistened bread cube mixture first.)
Step Fourteen: Gather the dirty utensils – the knife, the cutting board, the wooden spoon. Remember your wedding and the photograph of you pretending to stab your new husband with the cake knife.
Step Fifteen: Remember your dad asking, “Punkin, is this what you want?” just before he walked you down the aisle.
Step Sixteen: Stare out the window and wipe the tears.
At my father’s funeral in March of 2016, I didn’t know what to do with my hands. It seemed wrong to take photos, but I had the camera. I was afraid to touch anyone, for fear I would break down. I just kind of wandered. Wandering still.