The Fork Story

The story goes like this:

My dad and my grandfather are at a church function. I imagine they are sitting in the basement, around a table. I assume that Jack and my grandfather are there.

Then desert comes around -- strawberries. My grandfather finished his before my dad finishes his. So Nice Guy reaches his fork into my dad's bowl to take one of his. My dad instinctively defends his strawberries with his own fork.

Decades later, my grandfather swore you could see the four tine marks in the back of his hand.

I remembered this story because today at lunch, you were playing around with a plastic fork. You like silverware, even if your not that good with it yet. And you decided to see what might happen if you stabbed the back of my hand with a fork.

I guess you can't escape genetics.