Four Poblano for Robert, One for Dad and That Is That

Almost a year ago I wrote about Robert’s rules regarding poblanos. I made five.  Robert eats four and dad, if he is at home, eats one. When dad is still at work, Robert places one poblano in the refrigerator with the intention of leaving it for dad. However, the intentions are tricky things, they get weaker with the passing minutes.  So by the time Robert’s dad gets home, poblano is already eaten. Even  the container it was placed in is already rinsed and placed inconspicuously  in the dishwasher.

Having that knowledge in mind, I made five poblano on Friday evening. I was sure, Robert would eat four of them, place one in the refrigerator and eat it in the next hour or half of an hour.

The poblano were ready around 6:30.  Robert ate four of them and placed the fifth on a separate plate.  A few minutes later, it still remained there.

Knowing that it might be difficult for Robert to tolerate uneaten poblano, I gave up and suggested that the consume it.

“No, no, no, no”, he responded adding, “Dad, dad, dad.”

Well, that would be a very nice thing indeed, if there were no strings attached.

Robert left the poblano on the plate with the expectation that his dad too, would be so drawn to the dish, and thus  he would appear soon in the kitchen. Robert knew that his dad was in New York. Nonetheless, the power of poblano would easily overcome such a distance.

Except it didn’t. For the whole four hours it didn’t. With every minute Robert became more distressed and upset. He called. “Dad, dad, dad.” almost all the time. Even when he studied with me, from time to time he produced loud high pitch scream that pierced my ears, and shook my whole body. He led me to the poblano and pointing to it with his hand, he demanded that I rectify this unbearable situation. There is poblano for dad, but dad is not there to eat it and Robert does his best to resist, but not without terrible suffering.

Twice, Robert handed me the phone, “Dad, dad, dad”. I called Jan.  He was already in Rhode Island just one hour from home. Robert took the phone from me, “Come home,” he said without prompting and gave me the phone back.

The following hour was as torturous for Robert as it was for me. Maybe, Robert got more hungry, maybe he got more worried about dad, but his high pitch sudden screaming, which he executed every minute or two,  was tearing the air and making me jump.  I just couldn’t get used to it, or prepare myself for it.

Dad got home around 11 PM. Robert noticed the car lights in the driveway, ran to the door and then he came back. He ran downstairs again to unpack dad’s duffel bag and start the laundry.  When he came back upstairs, he glanced nonchalantly at his dad.  Dad was eating poblano. Robert didn’t wait until the poblano was gone, but turned back and went to bed.

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